Lyrics:
on the grate in the evening, takes the chill away fine,
Cut the telephone line, the story's the same.
There's a worn red chair by the window that she found
the skeeter-skeeter
Rubbers worn out
You can tell by the mileage meter
Betty-Betty McBetty, the name of my new Chevy
She snow-snow whiz-ite
The color of fish scaleys
that's acid washed
D.C. wore K-Swiss and Sergio {?}Vertini
Girls wore tennis skirts, that was mini
Spot{?}, Ewings, {?}
New Balance, Fila, Nike
Why don't you love me like you used to do?
How come you treat me like a worn out shoe
My hair's still curly and my eyes are still blue
So why
able to go to the weed spot
'Cause all of the dreads would think I'm a cop
If he was white
What if he was white?
What if he was white?
for a livin' like it was jail time
It's toxic ain't it when u stop chasin' cannot take it
Too lazy to plot to the top although the spot's vacant
They
and save you
Come and save you
Trouble and trouble again
It's getting worn out
I'll never move from this spot
On my Island of Clouds
No I'll never move from
passing through
What they think is missing is not
It lingers for decades on end
The history's still in this spot
Cooped up and out of sight
Kept on by
I know it's been a rough few years
Fighting against the worn out tears
Never give up and never look down
The people that love you need you around
Gate was locked and the gang tried to hop,
Hip Hop Police in the Spot, Fire away,
Cuffing our fate, Book your slot,
See the cashapp drop, You running
refuse to be worn down got me feeling whored out
Talking to my demons but they ain't getting forced out
I'ma learn to live with it harness the power core
Revealing a new door
Time is worn
By still flowing through more
I'm reborn and
Living the new norm
Sliding behind the wheel
Of my electric feel
We're moving
This bandage, I’ve worn too long
It is tattered, and dirty, and falling off
This cut has yet to heal
It is bleeding and weeping, and I can feel
I ain't running out lines
And I ain't going for the tie spot, I'm a one of one, so fuck you mean
To tell me, I ain't spinning as your number one
When
Oleander and a soft spot
Spider webs whipping on my face and I begin to panic
Down in the tunnel you can go from innocent to satanic
Down in the tunnel you
'Cause I don't want it enough
To bring me back on the ground
But when the world spots you
And sees what you've been through
They see the love tattoo
That
There's a spot in my heart,
Which no colleen may own.
There's a depth in my soul,
Never sounded or known;
There's a place in my mem'ry,
My
There's a spot in my heart,
Which no colleen may own.
There's a depth in my soul,
Never sounded or known;
There's a place in my mem'ry,
My
open-minded like a pothead
Doin' what I gotta do to keep the spot fed
In the climate of locked dreads, corn-rows, torn souls
Worn hoes, who been molested by
fourteen twenty-eight.
If anyone spots
The Queen of Scots
In a hand-embroidered shroud
We're proud
Of the Stately Homes of England.
Lord Elderley,
There's a spot in my heart,
Which no colleen may own.
There's a depth in my soul,
Never sounded or known;
There's a place in my mem'ry,
My
the spot fed
In the climate, of locked dreads, corn-rows, torn souls
Worn hoes, who been molested by they uncle
I bundle, amongst you cold mother-uckers
Tina
And I got my nina boy you better be subpoenaed
Walked in the spot, ice on, lights on, blingin'
Someone start a fire cause it's fucking freezing
I'm
fourteen twenty-eight.
If anyone spots
The Queen of Scots
In a hand-embroidered shroud
We're proud
Of the Stately Homes of England.
Lord Elderley,
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