Lyrics:
Marley, Tom Hardy, nigga yes
I’m probably God Body, Bob Marley, Tom Hardy in the flesh
Ay, do It for the 7, do It for the 3
Do It for the 9, do It for
)
Ignore Bob he get weird sometimes
It okay though, Tem don't mind
(Except when Tem allergies kick up!
Tem allergic to Tem! Hoives)
Tem Flakes, Temmie's
biscuits and a slew of gravy
I'm a Hoover baby no Hoosier statie
Home grown mommas baby boy
Behave on a date now
She tell me it's late she wanna lay down
I
of the
hunters...
And, of course, as always, the part of Bob the Janitor is played by the
accordion.
Well, that's it for the introductions. And now, the story.
It's a, it's a vibe
Ultimata!
All my homies we all on the studio tour bus right now (ay ay ay ay)
This is Stoney Bob live in a room from
to not be impressed
By the things that I'm doing that come from the flesh
But it's hard when your flow is Midwest
I'm coo on her homie 'cause a soul
Looking at
All this rappers Iv been eating
Even if I was 2 pac by now I would have pot belly
I’m a shot (short) caller
It’s like I’m on the phone with
it's time to ride
Damn! You got a Vagina?!
Damn, bitch, that's crazy...
That thing looks like you ordered red, white & bruises
Made in China with
Heya Tom, it's Bob, from the office down the hall.
It's good to see you, buddy, how've you been?
Things have been okay for me, except that I'm
at our house, and
He and I sat down and wrote a song together
Let me see if I can find that damn thing, I'll sing it for you
Yeah, here it is. It's called
like, "Damn, this piece of music is genius"
And he said
"Well, like I said, it's this left-handed thing in the style of Bill Evans"
I said, "But Donny
Guthrie was consumed by fire
His momma took ill and fanned the flames
A man set out to do his own thing
The ornery profane poet straight-talker
Woody
Big Benjamin's, my etiquette
Black shades on, black excellence
Big ego, yea settlin'
Turn the lights on, Tom Edison
Oh, we on we on like we are
me things I got time for
I'm looking for shit I got time for
On my shit feel like it Tom Ford
Put it all on me
Put it all on me
On my shit I feel like
Jean Claude: Now Madame Blueberry was a sad little berry
She lived by herself in a house in a tree.
Her butlers would show up each morning at nine
with my BBN jeans
Should be sponsored by Balmain
And I know, I swear you hate it
Staying patient is part of my reputation
Motivated til I hit my
But they can and can can
If I didn't say it I'm a sucka parlayin' it
It don't really matter if the flow fatter
But I don't, don't believe, and duck, bob
and a prophet
Bob Marley taught how to off it
Bob Marley walkin' like he talk it
Goodness me can't you see I'm gonna cough it
Give it away give it away give it
call me Buddha meditating
Pettier than Tom ticking like a time bomb
Feel it in the rhythm mixing chaos with the calm
Getting lost in translation with all
I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in that good old golden days
They call me a bummer and a gin shot too, but what cares I for praise ?
I
Cheer up, it might never happen
Drive-by shootings on the streets of Clapham
Jackboots booting right across the map
And daddy's gone 'a looking
Poor little Mikey
Down in the dumps
He hit the jackpot by
Sucking off Trump
Dreaming of impeachment
Now THAT would be grand
a feelin'
Uncle Sam be gat Uncle Tom
And when it comes to drugs
Uncle Tom gotta bomb
Can I get a pop
Till the motherfuckers stop
Sellin' nat shit
That
with a honey by the name of Hannah
Wearing nothing but a bandanna
Pussy wetter than Louisiana
You know the deal, peace to Miilkbone
I keep it real flyer
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