Lyrics:
And called it work but nothing to show but a bitch
You crashed out Cold bossa nova and pill
Those clothes are from hoes that dispose you to thrift
dress
Nigga stay in line
Hype shit never hype bitch
Know now that you're dealing with a crisis
Never been nice never been nice nigga
I'm a thrift
and Nancy,
Bring on the apocalypse
Don't need no songs playing on the radio, no, no, no
Get my truth from your thrift store halo, oh, oh, oh
It's the way she
long
Whatever happened to soy bomb
Lunch box collector loves all the pussycats
But when he goes to bed
He wonders where he's at
Thrift store
that thrift store chair you like
I'm gonna put a John Prine record on
I think we need to slow down for awhile
We need to slow down for awhile
this out to Richie Vey
In his thrift-store corner of the world
His soul is my cheap laugh
As the hour grows late
boots, bitch
Hahahaha
Yeah
I just left a thrift shop with a Ziploc full of new rings
Got a few things for the miss, I got no bling on the wristwatch
I'm still dope, even if the bag ain't Coach
Even if I don't smoke 'til the hydro roach
I'm still dope, rock a thrift store coat
And a fresh pair
million dollar chicken coop
I'd hear those thrift shop cats say, "Brother, get her
Draped on a bed spread made from three kinds of fur"
All I can say is,
into Swiss on my wrist
Put on Patek Phillipe, you cannot find at the thrift
Why are these women so childish, why are these women so petty
Got some big
i saw some photos of a happy family
hanging up on the thrift shop wall
i paid the man and i brought them back home
i feel better now when they don't
were open when you needed some consoling
I'm hoping to hear something besides echoes
Every time I say hello)
I could talk about my duds
And my thrift
patterned shirt
And put a cease to that thrift-store chic
You Macklemore-looking motherfucker
You talk shit, I bet you're nice to my face
So if you wanna
up do that extra
(Do that extra)
Talked to Santa Claus about you all
Cause I can't bless ya (Bless ya, argh)
I'm in Neiman's, not a thrift, countin'
say hello)
I could talk about my duds
And my thrift store scores
But that probably wouldn't interest you
But why should it
I mean, I've seen
line dance outta here man
Give her room to move her feet
Chorus
You see her in thrift stores everywhere,
Hardly ever at a shopping mall
She acts just
like four years ago
Just like four years ago
I was a thrift shop purchase
With holes you had to sew
You wore me proud and with your friends
About four
'round this million dollar chicken coop
I'd hear those thrift shop cats say, "Brother, get her
Draped on a bed spread made from three kinds of fur"
All
read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine
Prototypical non-conformist
You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo
You
And later by Malcolm, whose point was straight
Stressing a black nationalistic state
Of self-sufficiency on a mission he
Stressed thrift and pride and good
reason why
Your mother was a seamstress
Chaim Soutine never spent
A thrift shop dime
In his life
Lenny Bruce never walked
In a dead man's shoes
Even
But you don't know where the whole thing ends, so don't waste time
I'm not concerned with your new boyfriend or your thrift store finds
When you go,
shit
In the thrift store for hours finding fly shit
See, I was fly when I was broke, I'll be flyer with some money
I attract what I want like a bee
Thrift store cowboys, five and dime junkies
Red dirt plowboys, asphalt monkeys
Holy rollers, signal callers
Truck stop angels, backstreet brawlers
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