Lyrics:
Making my own beats
And writing the lyrics to
Drake got a ghostwriter
Never writes his songs
All of his big hits are made by
Someone else
Real artists make
cnother one
never judge a rapper by the song he make
Its tha bass
Still ghetto
like old
sneakers an new strings
With gold chains
I'm ghetto like smokin'
I got this bad lil bitch, she a bopper She keep On suckin' dick, can't nobody stop her
In five minutes, yeah, she know I'ma drop her
Nigga, don't
Hello friends, This is Stompin' Tom Connors|And I'd like to dedicate this song to that old Alberta cowboy himself|Wilf Carter||(yodeling)||In
Do you remember that song by Janis Ian?
The one where she complains about
Not getting chosen for the basketball team?
Her song went, "For those
Stuck inside, half alive
Do you ever stop to ask yourself why?
Close your mind, identify
Do you feel, do you feel?
Do you call this a life?
All you waited
to articulate these words for my art
This is just a part of me
Have ya heard by the grapevine? No
Babe, do some figure eights on my ass
Let me know if you can
Yeah
Really don't talk a lot (Really don't talk)
Might fuck 'round, buy the block (Buy the block)
Roll weed, roll by the cops (By the cops)
This shit
doing me on this lonely road
The goal is all I see
You can ask around
Too many make excuses
I just make it known
That I won't accept the life you
I'll fuck you right, I will, I fuck you right, I will
I'll fuck you like no one has ever, ever made you feel
I mean, this part of our relationship's
to the gin on the floor
He was a little bit shy
But he winked one eye
And he got him a little bit more
And he didn't go back to his hole this time
But
I think there's a yeti
In the corner of my room
He's shrouded by darkness
His red eye impending doom
Just one of the monsters
Who likes to change my
find
Our puzzle pieces scattered
When do we all belong
Money shouldn't talk that strong
When Bob and Phil and Joni wrote their songs oh so long ago,
I get propositioned by the ladies, you'd think that it was Sadies
My music came up to quick I got the Bends no Mercedes
Hot as hades, shittin on em
here waiting in this bed of blues all alone
Singing a song to you, singing a song to you
Singing a song to you, you, you, you
Singing a song to you, oh
Wasn't really into rap but the shit sound tight
He used to tell me all the time
Don't wet none sis
By this time next year we gon' be dumb rich
That's when
Lemme lemme introduce myself
My name is Luke the Fluke and even you could tell
That I'ma stick this shit where the sun don't shine
'Cause I get
So tired of being lied to
So tired of being judged for compromising what my pride do
Ion hide in no disguise this who I am
Watch who you lie to, it's
I wanna show the world what you Look like
Fuck around and start an only fans
Your friends
They don't even know the half
Of the freak you are
Or what
And the world is just so done
So I made this groove I hope it fits
And when the groove is On
I feel I can add a little extra by my own
Oh when the groove is
management
Man, I'm like the Feds, I bring down your establishment
Under the Rico, I purchased my 3rd quarterly from Bob Cito
Got your block locked like
as the badest on this microphone apparatus
Half the atlas been blessed with my presence
Upon entrance entranced by my essence
Hotness the loch-ness lyricist
Quick
So when I say this for the half-knotsI'm talking about the ones that feel like, you know, they
can't succeed or they can't conquer their dreams, you
a hunnert-and-ten of 'em
I says, "Pig Pen, they just didn't have no faith
"They definitely gone ten-seven."
By the time we got into that Piccadilly Town,
'Bout half
.jpg/300px-Half_Man_Half_Biscuit_(22017516678).jpg "Half Man Half Biscuit")
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