Lyrics:
Oh, John Dillon James was my good time country buddy
Well, we hunted, talked and fished his last days away
He was just a hired farm hand, worked
remain in ya seat
Young swearer, druff bearer
Spitting bars with no error
Head sweeper, Griff Peter
John gon be a wife beater
Not Dillon, no stutter
Really
Peter
John gon be a wife beater
Not Dillon, no stutter
Really hate the Queen lover
Corey Glover, fucked your mother
End john, so he never bother,
This country has been surprised by the way the world looks now. They don't know if they want to be Matt Dillon or Bob Dylan. They don't know if they
Now John T. Floores was working for the Ku Klux Klan
The six foot five John T. was a hell of a man
Made a lotta money selling sheets on the family
T. Floores was working for the Ku Klux Klan
The six foot five John T. was a hell of a man
Made a lotta money selling sheets on the family plan
Shotgun
Parody of Sold: The Grundy County Auction by John Michael Montgomery (R. Fagan/R.Royer), Of Music (ASCAP)/RobbRoy West Music (BMI)
New Lyrics
and Jerry Clower
Glen Campbell's Goodtime Hour
John Wayne and Marshall Dillon
Roy Rogers, Andy Griffith
Ben and Adam, Hoss and Little Joe
And Festus
Busker John Joe May ©2004 Jon T. Howard
For twenty five years John Joe May played the Underground
In the alcove at Notting Hill Gate that busker
in their mouth
Start a moonshine steal sleep in a tent
buy some cheap livestock find some land to rent
Then I'm a Cledus T. it up and down the farm
Show stopper
보여줘 여길 지배하는걸
마치 john stockton
Show stopper
무릎 꿇려 바닥에 굴려 마치 정찬성
Show stopper
인간의 드럼화, 치료 목적 소음난청
Show stopper
호들갑, 오두방정뿐인 랩퍼들
입에 맞춰 포구장전
robe dangling all around your body
Will you meet me
Did you ever hear about
William Blake
T. S. Eliot
In the summer
In the countryside
They were
ain't got music to play
Now John T. Flores
Was working for the Ku Klux Klan
At six-foot-five
John T. was a helluva man
Made a lot of money
Selling
Shotgun Willie sits around in his underwear
Biting on a bullet and pulling out all of his hair
Shotgun Willie's got all of his family there
John T.
Buffett, Lyle Lovett and Bobby Gentry
Jerry Jeff, Bob Dylan, Donnie Fritts,
The Dead, The Doors, Patsy Cline, John Prine and more
I got Jackson Browne,
they're holding their breath wishing for me to fail
But these ni**as can't see me like Stevie at John Cena's house
(John Cena)
Big dick energy, I'm rapping
as John T. Booker got low
Yeah, singin' the songs that don't rhyme
Carryin' those pennies that do shine
Laughin' at the minutes that fall behind, in a very
I'm so confused
No one can judge me unless they been in my shoes
Still working no one have it up like we do
We gone get a milli when John Dough
Of the past, ause lately it all sound the same to me.
Oh-oh.
Will you remember Jerry Lee,
John Lennon, T. Rex and Ol' Moulty?
It's the end, the end
our tiny pink
Tiny Pink Asses
We would play detective
we would be John Waynes
Gun Smoking Marshall Dillon
Killing all the indians
with our
Tiny
and the Aggies and the Hamptons
They book us, won't book us, I'm Booker
T. Washington, George killed, for twenty
Think about it (think), that's two thousand
Streep and Mika, even John McCain.
What do they have in common, this motley company?
Why they've all run afoul of Donald T.
Chorus:
So no-one walked upon
on a crowd down at John T. Floore's
A song was born
Outta real life, outta real love
The best ones you can't make up
It just means more when you've been
copyright 1976, John Dillon
Discuss these John T. Dillon Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In