Lyrics The Morning After - Bambu

The Morning After

What up gangstress?
My head pounding like a mugg
Been at the bar all night, you know, chopping it up
By the third or fourth cup of Hennessy I was bent
And now I’m glad about my past relationships again
But ahhh
I got off to thinking 'bout us
People’s Park, Venice Beach, New York City and stuff
Your red pumps to your Vans, my shank in your bag
Put my hand in your hands because my airplane land
Go act through the town over the bridge to your house
In a 4−1-5, sucker free, no doubt
I fucked up being right there when I should’ve been here
Now right there’s a regret and you the truth my dear
I ain’t gon' fuck this up I swear
Now I dare for the girl who let’s me keep her pistol under my chair
I wear my Dodger fitted just to see your face pout
But I love it when you smile and flash the gold in your mouth
And I…
I love it when you love me like this
I love it when you love me like…
Let me kiss your tattoo, put my arm around your waist
Put your lips up on my ass face
On my side of the bed
Go 'head punch me in the stomach when I push you off the edge
Mama was a rolling stone
Bucky up when he hear that raspy tone on the phone
On the road when I’m out I know it’s hard on your heart
Late sessions out recording, keep us always apart
Off the Bart, Balboa Park, Brazil or Madrid
We can chill in the crib, hit club Milk or club Six
Or just sit, light up a swish, my girlfriend Chris
Miss L.A. on a song, gon' play for our kids
I’m still a little hung over and a lot more sober
This the morning after, I’m just happy that I know ya
And I never take for granted that you here with me now
And I’m reminded when you smile and flash the gold in your mouth
And I…
My ghettoized eyes find I’m hypnotized by
My lover my reminder why I need me a rider
Why I need you right beside a man who fights for our country
Because you come from where I’m from
You organize just like me
No sleep till Brook-nam
If it’s me and you, I’m cool wherever I put my foot on
My biggest fan my supporter, my endorser my friend
Buckle up, stomp it back, we at it again
The journalist that’ll document the struggle we in
And if you need with the speed, I’ll put a fist to a chin
L bombs on the L.O.V.E.
hater movement
I’ll be there for you to help you with whatever you in
You got a soldier home girl, best believe
Who get sad every time I pack my things up and leave
When the Feds come knocking on the door of your house
I know you ain’t gonna show 'em any of the gold in your mouth