Lyrics:
humming voices drag you softly into a melancholic soundwhile the story unfolds with the vocals supported by the electric piano and the strings, and a beat
Soprano, Tony Montana, Flo Puppy, Luciano
Exotic chick playing sure damn on my piano
Shot sister rock never runs outa ammo
Take the just gassed up
Tell
pants up, I'm ready to swing
I'm ready to swing on a bitch
If it go left, up that thing on a bitch
She in love with these balls, put a ring
music in my plan
I taught myself to play piano, I
Put that music in my hands
Then I lost her to diabetes man
I do this for my gran it's better yet
I never
humini, see
My DJ go by the name of Jazzy
Little chest big tummy
Watch the man rip the wheels and a
It's almost if the things are real and a
He's the man
they already do
How he sold blow but he ain't never blew?
cnd a lotta niggas changed in this game but I cannot say the same
Cuz I have yet to do a thing
I been thinking a lot of the same things I did a few weeks ago
I'm listening to the same few songs
I remember that day you were humming that tune you
não passar fome
(Hey Oh)
That's not a love for a night
I want you for a life
I'm gonna make things right
So I can call you mine
Baby mine
You are
my souls controlled by the late billy holiday, me and eric
Strung got all the way, rainy alarm with the charm of a nickel
As barm, then I sell you
Rave reviews on Venus
Things got hot on Mercury
That's where I burned my piano
And now they're playing bagpipes on mars
They've got a ? shrine to Elvis
breakin' 'em off proper
The next big thing since Pun And Big Poppa
So big when I walk in a room it gets darker
I'm soon to be a household name just like
all in town
I plan to join them later
But my blues are still around
Don't wanna waste my time on crying
Things that you say won't tear me down
a prick, or are they just secret fans?
Blessed by God, fear no man
But my heart still beats when I see a police van
I was hungover
In Phuket I couldn't
She's sitting playing piano,
He's sitting paying a bill!
Betcha they're young
Betcha they're smart
Bet they collect things
Like ashtrays,
at all, I might even walk,
It?s a nice night?
Na, Na, Na, Na, , yeah?
David who? He?s a thing of the past, I don?t talk about him
He met some artsy
sitting playing piano, he's sitting paying a bill
Betcha they're young, betcha they're smart
Bet they collect things like ashtrays, and art
Betcha
paint, I ain't a chauvanist,
I like taking long walks by the beach and tasting clouds outside of my reach
As I walk amongst you, you don't need to know
ahead
You should quit
No more coaching those sopranos
With voices like bees
No more secondhand pianos
With six broken keys
No more agents
keep driftin' by
But when a saxophone starts moanin'
Well, the moon drops out of view
To bring a darker shade of blue
I hear a piano twinklin'
.jpg/300px-The_Real_Thing_(1972).jpg "The Real Thing")
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