Lyrics:
Cooking that dope like Esco, brushing that paint like Pablo
All my songs got a message, splashing people with the vision
Paint pictures like Warhol, paint
Wishing for apocalyptic downfall flows
To shower the spitting a image of the trash in control
Of the music still loved by the young and the old
But have no
All the repeats on T.V.
And computer terminals report some gains
On the values of copper and tin
While American businessmen snap up Van Goghs
For
lipstick traces on her mug.
We watched each other closely
She looks like Bela Lugosi,
She asked me for a ride home
I felt around for my comb,
And in
lights on
Its only right for you to love a B & V song
See the plan was to get it all by any means
Living it how we get it nigga no Plan B
If you want
gods
Turning in the rods for the bags of the catfish
I don't believe that god is a black man
Spoiled child getting robbed for his black vans
Mars
gone, he a dead man (He through)
Say my name on his song, he a dead man (That's your ass)
Tryna hide behind your niggas, that's your man's ass (nigga)
I'm losin' my mind.
I yearn to fly yet I see crystalline tears in my dreams.
After that I drive into the hills and trade my car for a bottle
for
I can take you đi xar thật xar (OKAYYYY)
Flexin on my car nơi tình nhân vẫn thường quar (FLEXINGGGG)
Sống cuộc sống bí mật dont u know everynight
child for he was concived in a foghat concert in the third row during the song slow ride knowing that she was pregnet scared the bejesus out of Fred cause
Under some dirty words on a dirty wall
Eating takeout by myself
I played the shows
Got back in the van and put the Walkman on
And you were
like an army (ey)
Vần câu hay tao vẫn cho free (ey)
Tao cũng đéo cần đến cái trophy (ey)
Kiếm được chút tiền tao lại cho đi (ey)
Sống không bận tâm đến
Van De Berg
I think that steez is proper
Had to put it all
In this hype song
They go play this in
Tha club in the church
They go play this in
Tha
strings too few for the eclectic design view
Use paint to measure if foundational cracks grew
Baby blue is cool by my preference is mango
More like orange
(can't believe)
Right out of the trenches
If you see me down you probably won't believe it (I mean who would've thought)
Do it for my people who would
up reasons for not wanting to hang out
It's too late for a blaze up, I'm trynna black out
I just wanna be by myself
I don't wanna be with nobody else
A song ease your lonely, let my words take your hand
Let me kiss your rose pedals for you and golden van
Let me point out the birds that fly only for
a game, there's no more fun
Pack it up, we going out, we going up
We make 'em love every song
Make 'em feel like they're not soft
Now it's time for me
here from L.A. to Van, all the way back to murderville
I got a license to kill
An' as for these bitches on the street...
You can love my sex, but
Walked down to the corner
Hid amongst the faces waiting for the downtown train
Where I brushed shoulders with a memory
Of driving home in a van full
the edge, bitch, off of my shoulder
I just, oh shit, yeah, bitch
Take off the trash for me, it's your song,
If I say it one more time, then it's gone, ayy,
to see you fall down like The London Bridge
Same song sung by a bunch of kids, can I live?
Tabloids watching which crib
Competition and the bitches got
223 on the casing
Look like a dance when that thing Swing
Clip bout long then a mufucka
Have that man singing songs for you Mufuckas
I'm a GOAT
Out for
I remember camping in Green Valley Campground
And Chris Joyce played me Run DMC's "Tricky"
It was the first rap song I ever heard
And I fell in
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