I. Chariot // II. Buffalo

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Andrew Forsyth

Andrew Russell Forsyth, FRS, FRSE (18 June 1858, Glasgow – 2 June 1942, South Kensington) was a British mathematician. more »

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You rode away in your chariot
Made of gold
As the sunset fades away
And nothing can compare to this
Nights are cold
In the palace of my youth
Take all my feeling and bury it
Death foretold
I can't stand to be lonely again
But don't come back in your chariot
I'm opposed
I'll get through this
On my own

I'm opposed to ducking bros for fucking hoes
Undisclosed to the public
Wine old, try fold my wallet it won't close
I publish
My thoughts in gloss text
Hawks with a boss nest
Cost less to digest these refreshments
Then to confess nonsense
Use me as an object
Or cause stress, laws set, jaws locked, entrenched

You know how the dogs get
I'ma buy them a palace to house them
Try not to drown in the swimming pool
Just allow them to flourish
Frolic
Nourish
Metabolic
I'm more than an alcoholic
Still I always find myself under your influence
My flow's continuous, I can't stop
Relations ambiguous
I'm conspicuous of your many ways you leave me outplayed

I love your company
March through our palace in Tuscany
It's two worlds in balance and harmony
Beth Harmon the way that I'm 10 moves ahead of you
Keep catching on automatically
I mean it's tragic we had all the chips fall our way
And I say at the end of the day I will stay if you stay
Oh the prices I'd pay for my way to be yours
It's a game, not on board

You rode away in your chariot
Made of gold
As the sunset fades away
And nothing can compare to this
Nights are cold
In the palace of my youth
Take all my feeling and bury it
Death foretold
I can't stand to be lonely again
But don't come back in your chariot
I'm opposed
I'll get through this
on my own

(on my own)

I'm not from Buffalo still get the bills
Make her fill up my cup now until that shit spills
I stay living it up got a house in the hills
They want beef like a patty I ain't talking Mills
Told me show her the wrist, she said "damn I got chills"
Yeah, I keep that one-seven ain't talking Brazil
I just snap on them beats, then I rack up a mil'
Make the opps mickle-sons I won't flop like I'm Phil
And I make them my sons
Then I call up my plug
Then I call up my girl
And I tell her what's up
Said you wanna come over
And fill up my cup
Take the coupe for a twirl
No ballerina

You know that we up
You know we corrupt
And I keep that sticky
Ain't talkin syrup
Now don't interrupt
Cross me you get slumped
Bitch from Mississippi
And she got good lumps
We running it up
Like I'm Forrest Gump
She my lil' dawg
She my lil' pup
Tell her to fetch and she wanna have sex with me
I'ma be honest I'm...

To be honest a sentence I cannot construct
Just when you come around then my mind turns to muck
And my knees start to buckle, I'm holding pants up
But you holding me down like the anchor that sunk
Then I hop in the Bentley, no it's not a truck
Either that or the Rolls cause I've made a few bucks
Ain't Antentekoumpo so G please be honest
Boy I know that you know you've run out of luck

I'm not from Buffalo still get the bills
Bills
Bills
Bills
Bills
I'm not from Buffalo still get the bills
Bills
Bills
Bills
Bills
I'm not from Buffalo still get the bills
Bills
Bills
Bills
Bills
I'm not from Buffalo still get the bills
Bills
Bills
Bills
Bills

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