Lyrics:
was, then in '65
Lou Reed and John Cale in
A Ludlow Street dive
Had a similar musical spin
Also on acoustic guitar and violin
With even more New York
postponed
Man is cold
Truth be told
Soul ain't sold
And it ain't postponed
Man is cold
Truth be told
Soul ain't sold
And it ain't postponed
6 by 6 man I'm
and be influenced by guitar riffs and snare hits
I don't care if my shit isn't typical
I've got imbalanced chemicals
Unskippable, verses need residuals
lil n*gga ain't pour me enough
Styrofoam, only thing that I trust
On the dome every day, shit becoming a must
All these drinks that I make and mix with
The money so long, I don't think that it ends
A bitch with my trust, I don't think I can lend
I got the Prada, mix it with the Fend
Haha
Five times out
one
I've got my boys in the back, it's a squeeze
Like juice. Let loose, we get away with murder
Always a double for me. If it's fourth and one
Then we
(What's wrong with you, man? You crazy)
I don't claim that Shan's the epitome
Your rhymes can't ban so you can't get rid of me
Line after line
crazy and a bit lost
Ticked off watching hitchcock till my dick pops
Limp off with a look like i can hear a pin drop
Is it really bad if im the topic when
bitches be way to green all I did was smile and make me a gesture
And I want me a big ass house with a big as gate, wit drugs, ETC
Don't mix business wit
(boom)
Yeah, man can't take my energy
Fuckboy with the fuckboy Tennessee
In a mix-up like champs and Hennessey
Heard they got robbed
What are you telling
talk too much
Guess that I don't listen enough
Guess I could be a better man
A better son
Oh and I guess this guitar that I hold
Might be a couple years
what you wearin' I know what we gon' do
Sorry for staring but baby I want you
The way you're movin' you're doing it just right
And I promise by the end
don't you come around my studio with that fake shit
500 for the track fifteen for the mix
Donnie W
You can hit me up we making it
Aiming for the fucking
Im not with that sad shit
Sorry sad ass sad shit
I be doing bad shit
Sorry mom i bad boy
Big Boy tingz
Like radio
But they will not play me tho
of this shit better MVP me sorry misunderstood if you tried to diss me
Never going to a penitentiary got two killers and they never with me
One in
on the yard
Bitch I come for band
I might steal your guitar
Bitch I'm lucky with it
You can tell by my charm
Breath smelling icky
Boy you look like a germ uh,
build my home through and through
Me and you, trying to find a place for Suzy Q
In the mix with a guitar lick, you just sit
Open up your eyes and that's
This was supposed to be a poem
But my guitar, she was feeling so alone
And I don't bother being a her, not him
She's like a mix between
woman, man
popping boy
Rap, no pop, record
They got fiend by the back up cause, backing off
With the price of crack, that could crack your jaw
Then running with
an all-star line up
Like none I'd ever seen
Roger Miller opened the show with Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys
Followed by Webb Pierce followed by Hawkshaw
Of a pile of trash
It was groovy
Rhonda dug the rebel
And the rebel dug Rhonda
So she grabbed her guitar
And rode off on his Honda
To a discotheque
A man's known by the friends that he keeps,
But I gotta drop wasteman so I got more reach,
It's kinda classistso I'm bustin' out my bowtie,
At least
the hydrant
So you can't put your burnin' furniture out (oh my God, oh my God)
I'm sorry, there must be a mix-up
You want me to fix up lyrics
While our
Of a pile of trash
It was groovy
Rhonda dug the rebel
And the rebel dug Rhonda
So she grabbed her guitar
And rode off on his Honda
To a discotheque
.jpg/256px-The_Black_Madonna_at_All_Points_East_Festival_2018_(cropped).jpg "The Blessed Madonna")
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