Lyrics:
Got a background of a different sort
I'm a cash cow for these liquor stores
I play bitches like guitar strings, getting strummed by Ricky Warwick
I'm
a trampoline
So my junk isn't on your forehead
Like Warwick Davis
You're a dwarf star you need to calm down smeagle
Critics
Turn'em into crickets now
I caught
though
I want a shirt that make my body feel all sexy
I want a chain that make my body feel all hefty
I want my head to fall off when I walk out
patience
OutKast I'm so fresh so clean
I strike that pose like Jolyene
I pop out serve face like Dionne
Then I go ghost like Raury
Aye
Don't part your
this last
While we make it by
And I'm cool
Cause I know we got each other
Come here let me hold you
And I keep my heart on me sleeve
Love cut deep you
and again
Fuck you expect
I'm not here to vent
This shit has been long in my head
I ain't paying rent and shit is so hard like cement
There's no swimming
the law on us
They want us in jails, with bails too high to bond, but am I the Don?
Shit, I'll be out by the morn', word bond
My game is on lock, till
collapsin' from the world that I will captivate
That purpose I can't fathom
How my father, my mother (Yo Marvs let's get it!)
Both went farther from
Crystal black pearl interior, ebony
Riding like a Lost Boy, feeling like a Kennedy
Repping west hemisphere, my med is amphetamine
My mellow my
the world go by
But he, well, he did study political economy at Warwick University
I mean, he dropped out after the second year, but in fairness to him, he
(Get out)
Another chance to
Head out (Head out)
Head out (Head out)
Head out (Head out)
I just want you gone
Life goes by fast
I used to live in
I miss the old you
The one that held me down and kinda told the truth
At Warwick every Wednesday
Can't control you
Partyin' with rappers
Actin'
love
Maybe you got lost on the way back to my house
Maybe you called and I was on the phone
Maybe you thought if you were late I'd throw you out
Get you on the diamond and you can judge my stance
I've never been the type to start something by throwing hands
Get me a sporting event, to get me out
Rd and Warwick we was out there wylin on the block
Say you my brother then it's locked
Love been running out of stock
Get in my feelings vent to God
When I see you walk on by
My soul begins to cry
I plug in my headphone jack
To drown out the sound of your voice
With songs that spark joy
Like
She was my hillbilly honey in sideshow alley
Holding hands on a Saturday night
Out with friends at The Jubilee
My hillbilly girl was dancing with me
Is she coming my way or is she just looking for gold
Weathers' warm but back home snow still fallin' down
They applaud up close but wish you weren't
added to my repertoire
In the corner of the room she stands glimmering and phantasmagoric
With an extra wide neck for the fifth string on my Warwick
I
The head banger
Verse One: Parrish Smith
Ka rank the boombox as my sound knock from blocks
as I chill and bust grills you take snapshots
gettin' some head (Shawnna, you a fool for this one)
I was gettin' some head
Gettin', gettin' some head (special shout out to Bill Clinton)
I was with
The head banger
Verse One: Parrish Smith
Ka rank the boombox as my sound knock from blocks
as I chill and bust grills you take snapshots
on my head
You can see the shine when I'm passing by your door oh my god
Watching all my steps when I walk
Got my heads high that means I don't need
figure it out, before you get locked in
You're in my head space
You're in my head space
You're in my head
You're in my head
You're in my head space
You're
.jpg/191px-20170617-224-Nova_Rock_2017-Black_Star_Riders-Ricky_Warwick_(cropped).jpg "Ricky Warwick"){kind=spacer}
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