Lyrics:
Food and drinks let us feast
Wagyu meat gone stay on lean
Wine glasses they be too clean
Baby phat can’t fit her jeans
Luckily it’s sundress
Frank Zappa (guitar, dialog)
Mark Volman (lead vocals, dialog)
Howard Kaylan (lead vocals, dialog)
Ian Underwood (woodwinds, keyboards, vocals)
I might not speak but he can here my heart
He just give me light through all the days which are kind of dark
Man the devil got his sneaky ways he
that I got mine
You gone watch us play the game like courtside
If you wanna make it grab my hand like a doorknob
Work hard at a poor job and make it too
at victory, kissing these little question marks
I tend to underestimate my average
Just another bastard savage
Someday you'll all eat out of my cold hand
'cause
ain't a dealer, but I will deliver, more iller than some zodiac killer
Baby I'm clean, shiner than that Subaru or Limousine
I couldn't give a fuck about
joined us last night around 6 or 7
We were improvising on a piece of music
That he said sorta reminded him of Bill Evans
It sounded good to me, it
And niggas don't be tripping, don't
Be doin no drive-bys
Cause we don't gangbang, don't wear blue or red
We like that fucking green and paper's what I said
Big
And niggas don't be tripping, don't
Be doin no drive-bys
Cause we don't gangbang, don't wear blue or red
We like that fucking green and paper's what I said
Big
Mark my words if you go and get the vaccine sure nothing will happen right now
But they’re plan to kill billions of people by 2030 is in their plan
got, though,
c fake starfish on top)
Give more than we receive, making
(Show Santa us is tops
No matter we be nice or not)
Life, a yuletide seaside
doped up on these Adderalls
I treat it like food
Count some millions up by hand
And I still ain't through
Had to give away some of my bitches
All these
where i sleep, now give me my key
[Verse 8: N.O.R.E.]
New York get the blood money, dirty cash still sweet
We will blackwall street by the swapmeet with
like forever
In the right now moment frame
All connected in the trails like the ones where the frames
Are trails like 12 of your hands one in front
the nigga in the suit in the box under the ground
Fox chased by the hound locked permanent frown xzibit get down
By liftin' iron by the pound for the tough
leave a mark
cnd not have em all forget it
But its better than regret is
So peace to the fakes
Got the keys from the jakes
Finna set us all free
Bee line
course plate
Cuz when this shit get hit by the fan
Same old clan gonna have clean hands
I digress, those jaded to stress
Difficult to clean when you numb
Jump Out boys, that's Nike boys, hoppin' out coupes
This shit way too big when we pull up give me the loot
(Gimme the loot!)
Was off the Remy, had
Bro what's poppin'
It's 'bout time real shy town niggas link up
Without no further a due
I give you
Yung Berg and Twista let's get it in
Aye
amicus curiae
I sign with nom de plume; mark you with signum
Symbols and names for crypts and tomb
Slice and dice and cut; my mirror a mutt
Give me
Fuck one time, put yo fucking hands up
Fuck the police tryna leave me wit a bloody crown
What's the point to see are hands if you shoot us down
get mad when they just see us up
Z8 and Wisdom yeah we boutta blow up
I give a fuck about a hater 'cause you know I grown up
I don't really give a fuck
ransom
By the hand of this black man
Neo-colonial puppet
White power with a black face
He said fuck it i’ll do it
A master of disguise, expert at telling
of the door to welcome us. And Grandmother, aged 70, was holding his hand. The old lady produced two pathetically soiled letters obviously read and re-read
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