Lyrics:
You don't strike me as the type to be callous
But your words seem so obtuse
But then again I know you feel guilty
And you tell me you want me again
my uncle Alchemist puff
I strike a birdie on 'em, while I hit your mouth with the club
I wake up early on 'em, gettin' out the house is a must
It's
way she ran to the corner saloon
To save her poor father from shame
Dear father dear father come home with me now
The clock in the steeple strikes two
the perfect combination of the right power chords
And the precise angel from which to strike!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwords
And the blood was
I'm a shit stain on the underwear of life
What's the saying? Where there's thunder there's lightening
And they say that it never strikes twice in
where me and Carla carved our names
With a pocket knife
But I like our love it burned down with a lighting strike
[Chorus]
Why does everybody say
What's up, babe?
Bye, bye, boredom
Strike 3
They used to call me lightening
I was always quick to strike
Had everything I own
In the saddles on my bike
I had a reputation
For never staying very
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Strike the harp and join the chorus.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Follow me in merry measure.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
While
lightning strike
And I bottled it up, we hit the red carpet and modeled it up
We hopped in the 'Rari and Prada'd it up
Now everybody clapping, they bravo'd
To use what learning I've got.
I won't waste any time,
I'll strike while the iron is hot.
If they asked me, I could write a book
About the way you
to love
Just squeeze me or baby you gonna freeze me
When the iron is hot strike it
Hold me I like it I like it
Don't want a man to sit there
on to organize.'
Joe Hill ain't dead, he says to me
Joe Hill ain't never died
Where working man are out on strike
Joe Hill is at their side
Joe Hill is
To use what learning I've got.
I won't waste any time,
I'll strike while the iron is hot.
If they asked me, I could write a book
About the way you
jack, dope dick
Pawn shop, quick pick
Kiss that dyke, I know you want to hold one
Not on strike but I'm about to bowl one
Bite that mic, I know you
Off in the distance, the game's dragging on,
There's strikes on the batter, some runners are on.
I don't know the inning, I've forgotten the score.
Cadillac
I had a fine fox in front, I had three more in the back
They sportin' short dresses, wearin' spike-heel shoes
They smokin' Lucky Strikes
Ain't no different from a block that's hitting
Gotta get it while the getting's good
Gotta strike while the iron's hot, before you stop
Then you gotta
bound to stay behind.
The weather is against me and the wind blows hard and the rain, she's a-turnin' into hail,
But I still might strike it lucky
you
And it's all over now baby blue
Well, strike another match
Yeah, go start new, go start new
'Cause it's all over now, baby blue
Hey, hey, yeah
a soap opera, on the curb
Watchin' the ghetto bird helicopters, I observe
So many niggas gettin' three strikes, tossed in jail
I swear the pen'
with the deadly bite
Quick is the blue tongue, forked as lighting strike
Shining with brightness, always on surveillance
The eyes, they never
the three strikes law is drastic
And certain death for us ghetto bastards
What can we do when we're arrested, but open fire
Life in the pen ain't for me,
and ready to strike
She doesn't know what to do for a second
But then, she jumps off the edge, me holding on
Above the hills, higher than eagles were
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