Had one too many one way conversations
with the licky licky lord
'till I grew a scissor tongue
and c-c-cut the cord
put the phone on the floor
attach the wires in my head
took awhile to except that that line was dead
didn't never wanna not live forever x3
didn't never wanna not not wanna live
didn't matter if the laughter didn't come after the bad joke,
if i was down with the filthy rich or flat broke,
accepted by the Aryans or black folk
cause i was carrying this weight until my back broke,
wasn't trying to be no hip hop god or raps goat(?)
shootin to be a rock star like its my last hope
Eyeballin that pack of smokes DO ME IN!
graduatin on the crack coc DO ME IN!
knocked of a paddle boat in the middle of the castle moat
kings men are yelling GRAB THE ROPE!
three sheets to the wind three!
three sheets to the wind!
i talk like a sailor, my mother is one
that's why i got this sixth sense of direction and my split tongue
taught me how to go with the flow when the winds come
curled up in a ball and tried to hide inside a kick drum.
while the crew is gettin piss drunk i had to purify my own and drink up
i had to save and conserve recycle my salty words to keep the meat on my bonesaw pres-s-s-served.
Writer(s): Christopher Walla
Copyright: Emi Blackwood Music Inc., Please Pass The Song
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