Lyrics:
What the young trend settin musician I be
Got critics givin up the recognition I de-serve
Never bring yo mrs. By me
I'm it I'm it call me mr. I-t
If I
pick what chick fi'nna come home
I bet you gon' learn to day, how 'bout that
Walkin' up out of here by myself
I doubt that
Go in hop in that Challenger
Sometimes I think about it
And my poor heart wants to die about it
Woooooo about the sweet sweet love I lost
And the way I got double crossed
By
Then he found God, then he bounced
Then he found a new chick
Two kids, wide hips
Found something in her we didn't see
Found this spot in Pasadena
Bring em in by the
Fives the tens the fifties
She be mad at me
Said I'm everywhere the chicks be
Can't take me seriously
Said I'm too friendly
Bring em in by the
Fives the tens the fifties
She be mad at me
Said I'm everywhere the chicks be
Can't take me seriously
Said I'm too friendly
Surrounded by chicks kissing chicks
Came to show you bitter motherfuckers on what defies flavour
Flows off the hook you should dial later
You should dial later
Boom
Chick!
Oy! Oy!
We've got cabin fever, we've lost what sense we had
We've got cabin fever and we're all going mad!
Grab yer partners by the ears,
Aynsley Dunbar (drums)
Jim Pons (bass, vocals, dialog)
Bob Harris (keyboards, vocals)
Don Preston (mini-moog)
What's a girl like you
Doin' in a place like
hard I be workin harder, old chick on my gram got her lurkin harder
New chick send me vids got her twerkin harder, old men got em ticked cuz I curve they
name
Synonomous with first class
She slob shaft
Everyday I make a movie
Everynight a happy ending
Rocked up like Bob Kraft
My chick?
You could never
them melody's
Sum to bob your head too, feels so heavenly
And it feels so heavenly
Heavenly
And there's only 1 god
And there's only one love
And there's
Chick after chick but never a tepanga
Ain't no telling where I end up
Return to sender
Swipe right swipe left
See what they send us
Not the next man
But
Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks,
Official Lost Boyz since the year of '86
And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with a passion
At times
shoes polished
By the best open mic emcees paying Timbaland's homage
In this day and age
If your deck ain't playing Cage
You probably disgruntled your
vans
Posted in my stance
I’m a 80s baby goofy I don’t Fuckin dance
I be on my dolo
Tommy bitch no polo
Got boot by da boat load
Sale it by da Ochoa
I'm buying popcorn at the Alamo when a topless girl goes walking by
I didn't know about the noontime show
and I never stopped to wonder why
Brandon Miller
Yeah
Giving straps to killers
In the red with the dead
I'm a walking thriller
Keep the hammer by my side
Bitch I'm bob the builder
Heavy
down
Flagrant as fuck, I'm never toning it down (yeah)
Oh, you big mad?
Why you chasin' a chick that I been had?
Took your dream girl down, yeah, I
Now my main wifey, dead as shaded chicks,
Official Lost Boyz since the year of 86
And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill em with a passion,
you could fly
Whipping 'round town late nights
Damn I feel so alive
With you right, right by my side
I ain't stoppin' til I reach the top, you heard
Acting like a hoe we gon' show you how it go down
Oh that's so tragic
If we talking 'bout bread I'm the whole baguette
I got your chick on my lap I'm a hoe
chicks
With the swing of my magical wand
The show must go on!
"Well it all began when I was very young
I was feeling so excited about the carnival's
You go out to the bar after you get paid
You see the little surfer girl with eyes of jade
Then you see a foxy lady standin' by her side
Pick up
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