Lyrics:
us
Niggas want beef, but I just be laughing at niggas like they bob’s burgers
Now why they wanna act like that
Like a boss nigga ain’t up next
Got
get away
Runnin around
And as the trucks drive by
You can hear the mother fuckers go "PUNK!"
A couple of lines, an extra thermos of joe
guided by the invisible force
He drives a kooky green Chrysler bad as anybody's Porsche
He's a working class drummer he's as strong as a horse
Me
guided by the invisible force
He drives a kooky green Chrysler bad as anybody's Porsche
He's a working class drummer he's as strong as a horse
Me
my friend and my friend's name is Bob
Like the devil knows hell, I know Bob that well
Well enough to tell you 'bout his sixty-seven smells
Well enough
Puffing on that shit that Bob Marley did
Snorting up that shit that killed Elvis kid
I'm looking paler than Michael Jackson skin
Living a life like
a massive super tax
If they sell it in the shops you'll have to buy it by the gram
No more fucking ounces this ain't fucking Amsterdam
People shuffling round
I WISH SHE WOULDN'T TREAT YOU THAT WAY
WRITERS WALTER IGLEHART, KEVIN WELCH
The way she treats you
Is a dog gone crime
I just get blue about it all
I WISH SHE WOULDN'T TREAT YOU THAT WAY
WRITERS WALTER IGLEHART, KEVIN WELCH
The way she treats you
Is a dog gone crime
I just get blue about it all
this on head bob and listen
Back in time when we dodged the limits
Harlan drive L rides would lift it
Round the time when we found the vision
Riding
get away
Runnin around
And as the trucks drive by
You can hear the mother fuckers go "PUNK!"
A couple of lines, an extra thermos of joe
drive-time jock won't get to do his thing.
“Hey he's not half bad, tell me, what's his name?”
Well his name is Rex Bob Lowenstein
He's frequently
Words and Music by Gillian Welch and
David Rawlings
Well the sky's turned pink on the eastern edges
Night is cold and still
I don't know if
to be gained
So hey, Bubba Ray and Joe Bob
Y'all, better get down here real quick
Drive, those pickup trucks to Huntsville
'Cause they're fixin' to put
Flat-Top Ó 1990 Lyrics: Russ Zimmer / Ian Cannon
Composer: Russ Zimmer
Performed by: 55 Alive
Verse 1:
Out
to Jay they shot him five times
I'm turning heads when I'm sliding by
I need me a bitch on some Bon and Clyde
Done with the talking that shit for the birds
Producer : TroyOnDaBeatz
Hook :
Lately I Been Balling
But I Never Played Sports
Young Nigga On Fire
Gp Human Torche
In the streets By Choice
2SUIM BY BALI REBEL
I WAS LIVIN LIFE
NOT LIVIN RIGHT
TRYNA GET IT RIGHT
(YEAH)
(OOHH!)
I AM ON A FLIGHT
(I am on a flight )
TRYNA LIVE MY LIFE
without the drive
See I bus tables and my
Homie Castro is a waiter
I can't wait to blow and say
"I told you so haters!" living the life of a
Egotistical
I popped a pill
Went straight to astronomy
Pulled up in a rock fit like Bob Sagat
Sip red with a white bitch
Candy cane
What would the game be
run sum'n ( oop )
Getting in my way I rearrange your lace front
Drive that bitch by her weave
Speed bump
You know I fuck with niggas with them Mob ties
on me no Mike Vick
I bob and weave in that pussy good and I knock it out like Tyson
Say first round, face down, ass up, straight pound
Yeah, shorty, she
the blues
Is a low-down achin' heart disease
Like consumption
Killing me by degrees
I can study rain
Oh, oh drive, oh, oh, drive my blues
I been
the blues
Is a low-down achin' heart disease
Like consumption
Killing me by degrees
I can study rain
Oh, oh drive, oh, oh, drive my blues
I been
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