Lyrics:
Looks a mess
Well I've wanted to do it for years
Well I've wanted to do it for years
Now I had a dream
Well, more a fantasy
Kip Noll, John Holmes
you meet your Lord and shepherd
Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted
Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic
Chorus: Grimm, B1
off dead, it's like your soul floatin'
But I want my two dollars like the paperboy told John Cusack (Hahaha)
We don't ride around here where they
the game
You been fuckin' up the scenery"
I know, I feel like John Cena
Ain't no nigga seein' me
Tryna rob me, they meet my damn Nina
Ain't a nigga gettin'
it was
Moses ignored fk the locusts evolved I'm a
Plague to the cattle when I show you this lord
I'm a late bloomer coming up roses
Primrose path
don't seem to mind
So the family's all ready to pray at the holy perch
That's set up in the middle of the gun sale at the church
Well we'll ask the lord
Stanshall, trumpet.
Say hello to big John Wayne, xylophone
And Robert Morley, guitar.
Billy Butlin, spoons.
And looking very relaxed, Adolf Hitler
the barn
Haffi sing yuh owna song
Can't compete with careless John
Verse 1:
I was looking a start, just a little ease off
no one would help me
John, he's kicking out the footlights
The Grand Ole Opry's got a brand new band
Lord, let me die with a hammer in my hand
I dream a highway back to you
Shaquille.
Right on your head, do what I said, backin' me up is the D
[Lord Digga:]You must be crazy if you wanna mess with me.
Cuz I am not the one, kid.
Last night we rode our broncs in Seattle,
Me and bill packed the car in the pourin' rain.
Witch and john were at the beer stand, gettin' sprung.
[Verse 1]
Suicide bomb, from Al'Qaeda to the Qu'ran
Represent your clique and our Jihad, bangin from God to Enron
Bin Laden is still C.I.A.
John
Well hear wicked man say them riding west
Tell them that them buck up
Inna Lord Jesus horse
And Jungle Jesus gun and the Apache
Dem who line up head
Off you go with the Magic Man
I'll show you things, Lord, you've never seen
When's the holidays?
Holidays, holidays
I'm at the bottom of my bed
Headphones on my head
John Peel's show
Feels like ten below
The sky's a dull gunmetal
The early wormy gets the fish
Jumped in my john-boat, I stow my gear
I fire her up and when I am in the clear
I sail across that water as smooth as glass
now I got money, put change on niggas
How can you blame a nigga?
Will I make it to the top, only Lord knows
Growing up in the swamp made my heart
Lord, I got something that your money can't buy
I know dudes that catch your body like a stage dive
Cross over, move the work like they A.I
Wolf
I know her by her apron
And the dress she wore.
Umbrella on her shoulder,
A piece of paper in her hand,
She gonna tell old John
She want back her
Praise the lord, I was born to travel
Feeling like Slash in front of the chapel
I'm leaned back with the Les Paul
Shit I smoke is like cholesterol
lord has a plan for all of us
Mormons at the door they are clean and handsome
Always have a good sales pitch
Your little sisters swears that she can
up in a suit, when he used to wear polos
I wonder if there's a heaven for a gangsta, a killa, and a shoota
I wish some nigga gunned john gotti had went
Okay this is a song about killing everybody
Let's all sing along now
Dream machine,
John and Exene,
Smear campaign,
And a swat team.
Let's
Vivian Stanshall, trumpet.
Say hello to big John Wayne, xylophone
And Robert Morley, guitar.
Billy Butlin, spoons.
And looking very relaxed, Adolf
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