Lyrics:
embedded I said it word
Damn, you nerd man, you heard
Coming from the town of Illy and alleys are
full of Phillies and Rallys suckers get
Silly as Sally
Words and music by John Kay, Michael Wilk and Rocket Ritchotte
And she walks along by the river
Where you can be alone with your dreams
And she
Lives and loves, and friends there in that
Lives and loves, and friends there in that
Lives and loves, and friends there in that small town
Day
Skinny dress makeup on point
Ten to midnight time to go
Her friends are waiting in the car
Ready to burn this freaking town
Tequila shots for
found out she's got no soul,
But it really doesn't bother her.
White trash queen,
American dream
Oh, what a role model.
Throwing a fit,
Making
I'm in show biz
Sets in the hood want me for dead
So I paint my tag on they forehead
Stick your little 'kay by my taggin'
You can fit twenty clowns in
the way it is
I'm allowed to fuck, ho, I'm in show biz
Sets in the hood want me for dead
So I paint my tag on they forehead
Stick your little 'kay by
Boy, it's late, walk me home, put your hand in mine
At the gate, stop and say, "Be my valentine"
You are, by far, the brightest star
I've ever seen,
Ridin blowin loud
Don't get mad ur sht mild/
Manne, It's time to turn up
b*tches reaching for da dial/
n*gga how u like me now
Gettin money by
Hello, hello
Today we'll be doing a reading of
The Gift of the Magi, which was published by O. Henry
In the December of 1905
The Gift of the Magi
Uh
1st & (1st &) 15th (15th)
Woah, uh!
Lupe Fiasco's Food & Liquor
Is lovingly, hand-crafted and done
By the good folks, at 1st & 15th, yeah!
found out she's got no soul,
But it really doesn't bother her.
White trash queen,
American dream
Oh, what a role model.
Throwing a fit,
Making
found out she's got no soul,
But it really doesn't bother her.
White trash queen,
American dream
Oh, what a role model.
Throwing a fit,
Making
down
Fuck with the cops in a box I'm proud
Snitch real bitch got the kitchen found
Now man are switching and pitching ouch my bro got lifted
Now feds
in his neck
And bolts in his head
Simon:
If it were me? Well, let me see
I'd multiply pie by his height and his weight
to determine mathematically
brewing in every town you can't stop the spread by sitting down they tell you one thing in reality it's another its layers that you must peel back
Words and music by John Kay
I fried in the sun just outside San Bernadino
Flagged me a ride in a rattletrap ford
Rollin' back east to the northern
right and trouble on my other hand
Life is a tight rope I'm dyin' the balance in
And by the end hopefully I be the balance-man
A simple dude who can exude
Been most everywhere by now
Cities grand and small
Some are near and dear to me
Some i can’t recall london is a fun town
Paris has its charms
But
on the floor
Can't take it no more
I'm sorry but the party's over
The talk of the town
Is she's going down
I'm sorry but the party's over
The cameras are
Heron
With Preem, H.E.R. and D'Angelo, queen serving me cantaloupe
Hammock low, swerve lambs on Atlanta roads
Earl animal Manigault, furs lamb
a piece of this gangsta, lean, straight from Queens
Strong as liquor, to be seen in a limousine
Now you're gettin' done without Vaseline
Wouldn't bite
a piece of this gangsta, lean, straight from Queens
Strong as liquor, to be seen in a limousine
Now you're gettin' done without Vaseline
Wouldn't bite
a piece of this gangsta, lean, straight from Queens
Strong as liquor, to be seen in a limousine
Now you're gettin' done without Vaseline
Wouldn't bite
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