Lyrics:
time of my life
I felt I finally did right
I disappeared for three months
I spread the gospel with Mike
On Sunday, we roasted s'mores on a fire
Thursday,
to find
That means an increase in the welfare line
Crime rate is rising too
If you are hungry, what would you do?
Rent is two months past due
Francis McPeake/Ewan MacColl
As I was sitting with a jug and spoon, one Sunday morning in the month of June.
A birdie sang in an ivy bunch
They had a warrant out for me all over the country
And I was trying to beat the raps in Idaho
I was breaking into a schoolhouse Sunday morning
The rent is two months past due, in a building that's falling apart,
Little boy needs a new pair of shoes, and this is only a part of, Soulsville
Some
covered in too much.
Drinking a cup of punch, tropical.
Every last Thursday of the month.
Daddy put tha hot grits on my chest in tha morning.
When I
Monday
Cause I tweeted hashtag my boss smells like a Monday
Every end month landlord shows up like a Monday
Damn too many questions why you sound like
on the airplane
Smoke like I never smoked before
Green like I never seen before
Woke up and smoked the bud, sky high
(sky high)
Buds circulating like a Sunday
I woke up Sunday sick to my head
I stayed inside and burned my own bread
It gave me something to do with my life
While you'd have nothing to do with
Whenever people are threatened by your potential, they start to act differently. They could be your friends , they could not be your friends, but
The rent is two months past due, in a building that's falling apart,
Little boy needs a new pair of shoes, and this is only a part of Soulsville
Some
It's a shopping mall
It's a parking lot
It's a tiki bar
It's a tequila shot
It's a lightning strike
It's a hurricane
It's three months of sun
flexin' in the passenger
One eye bandit turned the scene into a massacre
Stopped pourin' 4's everyday to build stamina
Kendrick when I’m preachin' but I'm
Sitting in the parking lot
Watch the 171 go by
Got some bread in the passenger, ask him why they look at her
Flower still on my mind
Sent a text,
let give me the blues
Gripping on this steering wheel riding by myself
No passenger I do this shit with no help
I'm like Santa to my jugs but I have no
I was born in Stuttgart Germany
April 86 I was built with a urgency
My skin and guts burgundy
Two months old when I left the language I never learned
been Ali
You ain't never had the lead
Tried yo' best to make em' listen
They don't never hear you speak
Weeks, days, months go by my lucks still dry
My
taste
The bass thumps for months, entrapped in the lab
With mad blunts, creating formulas that you can grab
I escape, the clutches of wackness, I'm
still a magpie and a pest but we'll be sure to salute
Dressed as neat as a pin, in a sharp patchwork suit
No, never in a month of Sunday's will you find
Whispered words in my ear
I sprayed them on walls
Preaching what I was taught
But I got caught
In those four walls
My identity formed
By the warmth
I have more peace in these 24 hours, than i had in my 24 years
365 days times by 2,
26 now I don't bow to fear
Mum acting up, Pops got the block
alive
And we’re blinded by the feeling
Oh we could never say goodnight
You’d take your coffee black and read the Times
When that Sunday kind of love was
songs for no listeners and throwing songs in the trash
Making dodgy deals 'cus all we ever wanted was cash
By the time Sunday comes
It's gone in a flash
a pastor
Killing fashion shit
Issa massacre
All my two seater missin is a passenger
The way I whip the drop I swear I should've flew for
The way she
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