Lyrics:
We'll go ahead, do your best and find me
Matter of fact, I'll be at your mom's by nine and we'll be fuckin' all night
Disregard the rubber
I'ma pull out
effects me
Pain
And I know
It echos
In the brain
Yeah
Pain
And I know
That my home
Is a grave
Stay driven by shit that effects me
Pain
And I know
It echos
I met you in a club in Atlanta, Georgia
Said me and my homeboy were coming out with an album
You looked at me like, "Yeah, nigga right"
But you
gon' hit your block in stolen cars, jump out with stolen rods
Now I don't know 'bout what ya heard, boy, we swerve, boy
We leave a nigga out of words
the front to the back
Make that booty go clap
To this bonus track
Evey time you walk by
Make the boys look back
Make ya spine poke out
Like ya ass too fat
was recording the album:
Cherry Bomb! The album!
I had a show New Year's 2015
And I haven't came out with music in a while
Damn, finally, you gonna
home
And if you mad that I'm right, punk wish me wrong
But after your three wishes, blow it out ya ass!
If you mad I'm on top, then wish me gone
If you
and replied, "Why yes
But I prefer the term African American Express"
Brains, power, and muscle, like Dame, Puffy, and Russell
Your boy back on his hustle,
I met you in a club in Atlanta, Georgia
Said me and my homeboy were coming out with an album
You looked at me like, "Yeah, nigga right"
But you
still try to copy
I just keep shit real boy, y'all niggaz just sloppy
Tried to steal all my fans, and you almost had em
Till they found out your new
Boy, boy, boy, boy, boy
When your mouth about that shooting
You find out that we been shooting all along
Boy, boy, boy, boy, boy
You get caught without
Boy, boy, boy, boy, boy
When your mouth about that shooting
You find out that we been shooting all along
Boy, boy, boy, boy, boy
You get caught without
home
And if you mad that I'm right, punk wish me wrong
But after your three wishes, blow it out ya ass!
If you mad I'm on top, then wish me gone
If you
your best friend
You broke out of Torontos glass ceiling
Know that feeling, the young grave kneeling
Perpetrators still unknown, no healing? No healing
fool! I mean, it's not like your going to have five
sides to an album, is it? Silly billy... Anyway, fourth side... only recorded on the album. Mmmm Hmmm!
which is on the b-side as you know, of Flight Of Icarus.
Now, for you boys and girls out there who've been paying attention and doing your homework,
Call me up to Your side
Draw me up to Your light
Let it blind me
Lord, refine me
Refine me out of my mind
Music by Peter Furler / Lyrics by Peter
Everyone wants to be a cowboy
Grab your guns boy
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the nigga dies
Zen, zen zen zen zen zen zen
You shot
Everyone wants to be a cowboy
Grab your guns boy
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the nigga dies
Zen, zen zen zen zen zen zen
You shot your
at your brain
Homie gettin' touched
It's bloody Halloween
Wash you out if you ain't lit enough
(Yes, sir) my bitch tryna go behind my back
But I don't give
shawty
Lory LaMattina, Keith Rothschild, fucking Rick Sackheim the God
Mundo Garcia, boy
Get a bigger pair of pants, your shit look like it's painted
plumin'
Boy you got me hot, fumin'
We all make mistakes we human
Aye, BeePax, Jos Beats name a better duo
Wait, sounding like a trio
Singing to your chick
Lost in your arms again
Lost in the waves
Standing by a river got me caught up in my dreams
Caught in-between, rough undercurrent in the stream
This
For your boy
I'm watchin' Freaks and Geeks with the trampoline on the floor
I'm tryna pop the McLaren with the vertical doors nigga
Money,
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