Lyrics:
and rolled
Joe Turner's voice was very low
B.B. King wailed
Charlie Parker cried
Louis Jordan smiled
Ray Charles moaned
Chuck Berry rock and rolled
He's the one who surfs in the sun
Chuck's more fun than anyone
Chuck's up, Chuck's up
He hits the beach with golden tan
He's our favorite surfing man
Hank Williams sang it
Number three drove it
Chuck Berry twanged it
Will Faulkner wrote it
Aretha Franklin sold it
Dolly Parton graced it
Rosa
hates
That's why the lady is a tramp
She goes to Coney, the beach is divine
She digs the ball games and the bleachers are fine
She reads Kilgallen
hates
That's why the lady is a tramp
She goes to Coney, the beach is divine
She digs the ball games and the bleachers are fine
She reads Kilgallen
a rocker way back in ´53
Buys them old records that they sell on T.V.
I know Chuck Berry wasn't singin' that to me
Mama,
That's all right, it's
True say
And now I've always been shit at computer games and your brother always beats me
And if I lost, I go all cross
And chuck all
to call me Chuck
It's Charles and you are shit outta' luck
If you think you know what happens next
You think you know what happens
Next time if you
True say
And now I've always been shit at computer games and your brother always beats me
And if I lost, I go all cross
And chuck all
100,000 Rip riders from the side
Blue Chuck's, blue rags, gray clouds, blue skies
On the move, can't lose, Hill Street blues
Niggaz gotta pay they dues
blame it on Chuckie
But this is child's play, motherfucka!
Aw, fuck, Chuck's on a killin' spree
Gimme some barb and I'll start by killin me
When I
Ca-rip, Ca-rip, Ca-rip
[The Game]
I ran outta gas in Long Beach, I'm stuck
Ain't no Bloods and all I see is blue Chuck's
Hopped out the '6-trey, nowhere
this is child's play... motherfucka!!!
Verse 2:
Aw fuck, chuck's on a killin' spree!
Gimme some barb and I'll start by killin me!
When I murder, I
die and the strong ball
Only in Cali where we riot, not rally, to live and die
In L.A. we wearin' Chucks, not Ballys (yeah, that's right, uh)
Dressed
This summer will be different I will move across the town
Promenade above the beach until my face turns brown
With my hands in my pockets
die and the strong ball
Only in Cali where we riot, not rally, to live and die
In L.A. we wearin' Chucks, not Ballys (yeah, that's right, uh)
Dressed
Elvis ideér!
Little Richard pattan a zongora mögé,
Chuck Berry gitárja csillog feketén...!
Itt a Beatles, a Hollies, a Stones,
itt a Byrds, itt
as the South Park Zone
Talkin' shit ain't into clickin' take your punk ass home
'Cause I'm the type of nigga that'll chuck
Hit you in the chest with
as the South Park Zone
Talkin' shit ain't into clickin' take your punk ass home
'Cause I'm the type of nigga that'll chuck
Hit you in the chest with
been shit at computer games and your brother always beats me
And if I lost, I go all cross
And chuck all the controllers at the TV
And then you'd
the driveway
And mom will have a cow
Then we can head down to the surf
Even though we don't know how
let's go to the beach
Let's go to the beach
Let's go
raise the bucks
Peel money rolls 'til our thumbs get the paper cuts
Chill retardo, South Beach Gallardo
Teals started up, go brr like it's Nardo
and Charles) Santa!!
(Chuck) Hey Santa
(Santa) Hello-ho-ho!!
(Charles) Who's this guy?
(Chuck) What's up bro?
Hey listen, I sent you this note
(Santa) Yes...
know I got it all
Chuck Ts with the white tips, it's Long Beach when I make the call
Gave us Tangarang, now it's Indigo, I be drankin' my own shit
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