Lyrics:
Words and music by Tom T. Hall
From Real - The Tom T. Hall Project
Originally by Tom T. Hall
Have you read any good telephone books lately?
If you
Sunset Sunday starts feeling scary
Bob Saget hosted a sweet sanctuary
Who do you love and who do you tolerate?
Tom made it fun watching grown men's
Please take me by the hand
It's so cold out tonight, I'll
Put blankets on the bed
But I won't turn out the light, just
Don't forget to think
don't get fed up
My people rise, my people fight
My people do alright
My people walk with pride and
We're marchin' side by side and
My people laugh,
Aynsley Dunbar (drums)
Jim Pons (bass, vocals, dialog)
Bob Harris (keyboards, vocals)
Don Preston (mini-moog)
You are... you gotta tell me something... I
and Weavin’ Bob and Weavin’ hoes
Tired of provin’ niggas that a Don can’t t get a No huh
[ Verse 2]
P for Pussy guy
Don’t ask me ’bout this niqqa
I’ll be
从头开始就没善他表面兔子却是狼豺
电话那头传来质疑声说lie lie
everyone can talk about this
e-pal bob and Mike
i try day by day never say die
listen this real shit called tom type
wake up young
On the outs I lace up, the world I face up
To score on anybody, its war on everybody
The new guys come in blood shot between the eyes
As long
thinking
You're feelin' like a lucky guy
I was the same way
'Cause she was hard to come by
I was on her so hard
That I almost lost the pussy
Go head,
of nigga
A new type of nigga
A sell out surrounded by wealth
You should have been one of the greats
Now you just sound like everyone else
Hello?
'cause the beer that they was serving here was only tap
I'm bitin', I fight dirty, you might get kicked in the nuts
You're frightened like, "This guy
playin'
Bridge with our wives
We'll just stop by them and
Sing them this song
I bet they'll be awfully surprised
I don't doubt it
Hey, we're out of money,
spit shit subliminal
Slang therapist, my whole style is criminal
Bugged like Bob Digital, fly visual
Mind body and soul, I'm a strong individual
Come
by sayin'
I don't like this beat
But I weather the storm, I'ma lightening streak
Uh, Weezy F. Baby, I do it big, weigh me
Them crazy freaky bitches
When they first heard us
We were working at a club in Hollywood
Called the Whisky à Go-Go, and the A&R man
Uh, producer, Tom Wilson, came in, he
crack, crack
If you wanna shoot, give me a second so I can lay flat
'Cause this, some the cemetery's, the reality
Where the tough guys get buried in
boys
Cause I got my eye on this other guy
Back in the booth with his boys, he's all mellowed out
And tonight I don't mind be a shy boy
So I gotta
be laced properly
Rules are rules, fools are fools, I react logically
Ain't no way, so come, make my day
Like Tom Hanks I earn long bank and Cast
hands'll tingle (boss)
Kilo after kilo, blow my winnings out in Reno (boss)
Candy out the Chevy, new motor, I got the beetle
Trappin' out of Tampa, Tom
seein' eye to eye
So we picked up and started a group with some other guys (haha)
This is hip hop (hip hop)
Man, I won't stop
Yo, Big Boi (what up?)
I'm getting by with my wicked ways
I'm loading up and I'm taking names
I wanna dig my way to hell
I wanna dig my way to hell
I'm getting by
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,
get some sleep tonight
I don't know what you are like
But I know that by the morning light
Bob Marley
Doing speedballs at McDonald's like Chris Farley
good for you like a vegatable
Shows by the several
Schedule full of festivals
And if I ever do time
Than you know it's federal
Uh, incredible, yeah
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