Lyrics:
you need to run and go get your frigity-friends
I'm looking at your bum-stickity-bum, hun
The mickity mack's bickity back, don't act wickity-wack
;s-a numbing
The hands as I hold this clock in the time of my life
Keeps passing me by
Chorus
Take me to your paradise, paradise, paradise
Take me to your
thrum
Oh I kinda like them conga drums
Floating all around
On the bum
That's when I got used to conga drums
Oh that's right
Well, down by
county line
By the looks of the gridlock outside
It's gotta be about 3:39
Everybody rushin' from place to place
The looks on their face ain't no
FcLL
{Verse 1}
{Zach}
Never did I think I woulda
Fell from the top to the bottom
With the burden of working my life for a dollar
Clock keeps ticking
move[00:20.69]I might Jug[00:21.69]I might just[00:22.60]I might just[00:23.57]I'm like who[00:24.44]I'm like what[00:25.39]Just a little baking soda[00:27.22]Got
Drink up a sip from a little cup[00:48.07]Before it comes down to nothing but the mere thought of blood[00:52.39]A strange feeling of a sliced up
yells[00:33.29]Motivation comes and goes[00:35.35]This life it fucking blows[00:37.42]Look around and no one knows[00:39.57]What the hell we're living for[00:41.59]Think
and drinking[00:15.97]They're now taking a pause, stopping and thinking, making better choices to prepare for their future, cuz livin life as a bum is not something they can get
avoidin what I'm s'posed to do
A co-worker gets on my case
Tellin me I need to smile, I hate this place
At 3 o'clock I walk outside
Standin by the backdoor
With the thang
If it's about my chips
Yeah yea
I remember was a bum
Use to wear the same clothes
No money
Use to count my fits
Yea yea
Niggas really use
wit me you can meet your angels
How you bums see someone everyday and swear you hate
Being a wannabe being a hater is not a dominant trait
I see you
flows
Gather 'round as the god flows
Uh
From the depths I rose to get checks, might flow til the hole blows gold for me
A note wrote by me reads "woe is
your fukin ass
That's when your ass be shaking all over the place
Who's the bum cuzzin' along in your hi fi
Stckin' do hitting the bong its
county line
By the looks of the gridlock outside
It's gotta be about 3:39
Everybody rushin' from place to place
The looks on their face ain't no
come from?
Do they fall from the moon?
Or fly out from the sun?
Are they dropped by the stork?
Do they pop out your bum?
Mommy, mommy, mommy
between the endless nights.
And by the way here's my theory if punctuation. Instead if a period at the end of each
sentence there should be a tiny clock
Kool-Aid gives you hella 151 November dog so run kitty run
We gon' drink it until we dumb-ditty-dumb, bum-bitty-bum
Here Kansas City come so give me some
and a player
Sometimes I bum hip-hop,the other times slayer
You don't like it
Well stay out of my fucking way
Duck for the gunshot and watch to the ricochet
to toss away
What does my clock display?
It says eight
Shit, I'm late for work again, so then
I dip with my pad and my pen
Step into the work place
outside your door
Carried careless with repeat demerits
Menthol lights could not scare us
If takers are bums I own the slums
Of crosstalk bound by stirring
to school again
You won't find me 'til the clock strikes three
I'm gonna be there 'til then
I gotta go back, back, back to school again
Whoa, whoa, I gotta
Hate to tell you, baby, hate to tell you ba-a-by
Hate to tell you, baby, that I don't love you
Hate to tell you, babe, I can't put no one else above you
time till I get whole[00:39.38]Enter through the side, then make her body just go shake all through the night[00:44.73]Don't ask her questions cause
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