Lyrics:
one night on the antique road show
expert collectors to appraise
Well, the trip that i was on
like a re-run marathon
of blue days and black nights
tried to espace
Some of them are sleepin' in their grave
Give me my antique french pistol
And single bottle of italian vine
Pouring on my head, life is
Puzzled by the thin antique face there on the wall
Following something that someone said must be there
Pull back the reins and slow this mother down I'm
the same
There's gotta' be something collecting in my scenery
I'm gonna' fill up this Antique Garden with memories of me
Stop drowning in this old escape
collar, black on black antique impala
She ain't gotta speak 'cause my speakers let her know that I'm ballin
They call me the boss, I be calling the shots
Then fuck me like you hate me
Hold me so gently, then
Pretend that you
Hanging on my wall
The antique mirror falls
The vision, it comes to me
When my
I didn't get that much sleep last night
Starring at the window and the cold moonlight
Tossing and a turning on the antique bed
The sugar tube
I need to stop it
I took to many
I'm bout to vomit (Damn)
Told baby just drop it
Told just pop it
Baby better watch that
This antique carpet
Baby
embalmed...
In their antique limbo.
The air began to vibrate,
Succession of vivid colours
Rippled across the surface.
Three-dimensional image,
Brilliant
(Verse 1)
The rain falls softly on Portobello Road,
Washing away the memories, of a love that once glowed.
The antique shops and bustling crowds,
voyageur est un poète assis
Quand je m’installe à sa table cérébrale
Se déploie une antique mappemonde
Le Portugal, cette antique violence
Qui donne à sa
hurting now?
Who's the one that's stuck?
Who's it torturing now
With an antique knot in her stomach?
I want to be big and let go
Of this grudge
a minor league
What you speak, you swear it's unique
Or just a peak physique of an old antique
Don't expect a project, then it's bound to freeze
Your
Beta version 1.5 Deprogram programmable programming programs, deprogram programmable programing programs. Raised on antiques passed for reality. Spatial
stay the night
And I got it on me
Gucci
Versace
Lui
My weed be looking unique
And yours be looking antique
bong
And blunt
And bottle of Hennessy
antiques (your antiques)
Show me that you're wide
Show me that you're witch all night
Can you really really show me (really really show me)
Baby i can be
Uh, you in a new school whip
Custom painted candy apricot butter
I'm in an antique old school four do'
Muffler draggin beat up duster
With scrapes
(GUITAR INTRO)
She combs her hair by the light we share
from that little lamp by the door
I read my antique rhymes for her as she
Sits by me
hand
Roll it up and pass it, as I cruise through traffic
Slow motion candy ocean on this antique classic
I'm super seedin' my quota, out collectin'
Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian standin' by the door
He fell in love with an Indian maiden over in the antique store
Kaw-Liga just stood there
the world
That's what this antique structure creates
Stand up
Stand up
Stand up
Here behind those eyes
There is something you should know
We
mistakes
Outlined in guilt, my portrait stares
In a gallery where the walls lie bare
As I modernize my antique ways
True colors can't escape the brush
at the rocks in my time piece
I come through in a drop top Jag, or Old-School Chevy
Wit da antique tags
My pockets so heavy that I can't walk steady
In Dubrovnik, in a building
On an antique floor
With the cutting edge of glass against
The skin at the throat
From the basement to the attic
Running
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