Lyrics:
gave me you number anyway you were on the talcum
Powder, how's about them oranges?
Moved away from home to school with big plans
By day, studied
In fifth grade
And start taking
Drumming lessons with Mr. Scott
And that dude
He started me
On the snare
With that
Blue and white book
It's called
This is for my white trash
The ones the whole world hates
The ones who voted for Trump
Then got labeled racist, but ain't
The ones with ball caps,
can't rap, because he talks with a lisp
But I got paid, now you feel stupid
Amazed by the style the sound and how we looped it
Now I clock G's, trunk
"The first words I spoke in the original phonograph, 'Mary had a little lamb. It's fleece was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb
IMMA MARCH IN
Shotty, glocks, with the armor on
Getcha body dropped, sendin' shots, set if off
White boy better duck or run, better duck or run
IMMA
feel)
A young nigga sellin' fruity by the pound (that's how ya feel)
And I got the best white in the town (that's how ya feel)
.45 on my lap, it's
me in confidence
And it got back to me by the evening
I'm an empath archeologists
I feel shit and don't rock with it
Study my pace like colleges
I
looking soft, so I started hooking off
And took her, I know she used to be yours
Now she's riding on the bus with us and doing tours
Along with some
along on tour
Just to have a good time
Or paying Calamity Jane five-thousand
Dollars to be heckled
By twenty thousand macho boys in Argentina
Or asking my
no rappers tough as me
That's why they don't fuck with me
They could label this a diss
When the song drop
Cause I'm better than your favorite
Rapper by
from the same cloth
But I guess you fabricate, eh?
You better bring more men than the Latter Day Saints
Manic states, Steven Paddock with automatic
me, and they down with the reason
Changing up the seasons, white bunny, red rum
I took it by the head and fucking beat it like a drum
If you got
Jack
With the luck of men that roam
With the back door steps for a dining room
And the boxcar for a home
We dodged the bulls on the eastern route
Jack
With the luck of men that roam
With the back door steps for a dining room
And the boxcar for a home;
We dodged the bulls on the eastern route
books by Malcolm Nance
I yelled "Oh hell no!"
There's a problem with this schism
They got to you and not I need to do an intervention
I called my friend
Nevertheless! Powerslave tour! Hmmmm. By the way,
Running Free... the photograph on the front of this single was by a man none other than Ross Halfing. He
done-I done tour bus, it's a double decker
Checkers on the shoes eating fudge cups
Jumping in and out the lambo, double dutch
I got more "white girl" then
attack my name is too
$Hort baby I don't play that jack one young tender lost all hope I slapped her
In the face with my dunkie rolls another young sucka
things all by myself so nigga, what you mean to me?
Uh, Walter White, Walter White, Walter White, smart like Walter White
Walter White, Walter White
riding tight on Thanksgiving
I'm in my set to drop yo' cutlass on GOLDS
Horns with a white top and
I watch them busta fucking use it
Sense them to the head
Thuggz Bunny
(Show 'em what you fuckin’ with)
Jack Rabbit
(Show 'em what you fuckin' with)
Oxy Cottontail
(Show ’em what you fuckin' with)
Doc Sipps,
arms locked with a suave buccaneer
Jack's breaking heart could be heard 'cross the south
All the way down to Atlanta
Fueled by a rage he struck them
from the poor
I'll steal from them both
That way I'll get more
Sleep with many whores then see them no more
Oh my Lord I can't wait until tour
I'll march
Discuss these on tour with the raconteurs by jack white Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In