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Yee yee! We've found 26 lyrics, 112 artists, and 100 albums matching like father like son papas song by gym class heroes.



don't even play ha ha ha, I'm home now though

(Man Gym class heroes is a real problem 
You needa recognize that 
Y'all was actin' funny while we was
stacked miles high
They say money changed me, that's a no no
I just don't roll with bums, no hobo

[Chorus:]

(Man gym class heroes is a real problem,
Gym Class Heroes
Cool and Dre (this is)
You silly for this one
It's Travie (why you doin' this to me)

I started rappin' back in the class
to another job working at the gym
He wasn't "Gone with the Wind" like Clark Gable
Work all them jobs to put food on the table
Phil's my father, daddy
dollar package deal

She said you want me you gotta take my son
Or else its like a hot dog but without the bun
Guess what he accepted, responsibility
me down the long ages, let them sing the song

See there, a son is born and we pronounce him fit to fight
There are blackheads on his shoulders,
truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.
See there! a son is born -- and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his
I heard God don't like ugly well take a look at my family
A different father every weekend
Before we get to meet him they break up before the week
One, nine, six, nine

Press the tape recorder, let's get this all down real fast
Before the insignificant thought goes by
There's one more slow song
And night he would cry and cry and ask "God why?"
Like "God, why the fuck'd I have to be born this way?"
God would reply, "Son, you've gotta show 'em you're
And at night he would cry and cry, and ask God, why?
Like God, why the fuck I had to be born this way?

God would reply, "Son you got to show them your more
Face like a shoot when it's bussin' my glock hold
Vanity stings, 'til I die when the holy father hands me my wings
When I was young yo the teacher gave
at his poncho 
Face like a shoot when it's bussin' my glock hold 
Vanity stings, 'til I die when the holy father hands me my wings 
When I was young yo
song gets sung
He wants to hang
So he gets hung
He's chasing father figures
A real son of a gun

I don't cotton to the coffin nails
Caught up
at your medulla oblongata
Blaow blaow, a young thug with a slim figure
Romantic type like the movie Casablanca
Herb seller, once but busted by an undercover
a baby and the next
Your sexin without protection
And now your holdin' a baby like
Damn I was just in your shoes
Now your the papa that's adjustin'
Back when Dot was hangin' at Top's in the Benzo
Freestylin' to them Chronic instrumentals
No pens and pencils, I was out there Bloodin' like
on your note boy
Got that ? off money, fuck I need a note for!?
In them school hallways like "fuck I need a note for!?"
We ain't wanna go to class, was
a
lower middle class family with only one brother Michael whom I love
dearly. He was five years my senior. My father's nickname was Red which I
could
to the heavenly father
'92 had a fetish for them heavy revolvers
We die as martyrs, underground, call me Osama
Plant seeds like a farmer, off of positive karma
to the heavenly father
'92 had a fetish for them heavy revolvers
We die as martyrs, underground, call me Osama
Plant seeds like a farmer, off of positive karma
to the heavenly father
'92 had a fetish for them heavy revolvers
We die as martyrs, underground, call me Osama
Plant seeds like a farmer, off of positive karma
you was suckin your chico stick
Shoulda sent your fairy ass to military class
Now your moms gettin sceamed on by your dad
Like we shoulda had
sent your fairy ass to military class
Now your moms gettin sceamed on by your dad
Like we shoulda had a daughter instead of a fag
This the last time
of the great
magicians. An expedition of alien voyagers came upon
the now ice-covered sphere, drawn there by an
unexplained lone beacon far below the miles

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