Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ay, artist - Cult Mountain. Date of issue: 10.07.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Ay |
| Just because I end a statement with «mate» doesn’t make ya me mate |
| I snatched the steak from your plate, then slap you in the face |
| They call me Nigel Mansell-'tache |
| With jazz in the background, fondling a bag of cash |
| And you don’t need to be told but I’m rare |
| Me blood coagulates into solid gold when exposed to the air |
| I burn trees, and blame Smokey the Bear |
| I’ve got flair, but the rest of me’s not there |
| I’ll be as happy as Pharrell once I stop larrying to Hell |
| Jack your stash of Gary’s and Valiums to sell |
| To meself, to help with the grief |
| While I’m dragging a gazelle by it’s hind legs with my teeth |
| «V» is for the Vallies, I need to forget the women |
| Who are now me exes, 'cause I couldn’t make it off the Z-list |
| And cult road man don’t slow dance with the money crop |
| And get caught, with both hands in the honey pot |
| I woke up, and hit the snooze button |
| This beat, makes me wanna sing the blues fuckin' |
| I tried to walk away but I stumbled like Macy Gray |
| I wrote this verse quicker than the time it takes to say |
| Aye, aye yo |
| It’ll be okay if we say so |
| Pay slow, we wanna war but we don’t wanna pay though |
| Ohh, today was a good day, today was a good day |
| Today was a good day, today was a good day |
| Yo, all these bitches wanna blow me off |
| They say I’m a nice guy, no I’m not |
| Okay I get it, it’s the D I give 'em |
| You say you want realism, I’m what real-isn't |
| That’s real noble of you Trell |
| Just tell it how it is, I hope no one’s doin' well |
| People tell me just knowing me is swell |
| Throw your bitch a white tee, a super soaker would’ve helped |
| (Wow) She got a hell of a rack |
| Intelligent? |
| Of course not, she’s a Trellion fan |
| I called Scott, what’s the mot' kidda |
| He said «Where you at?», I said I’m off the coast kidda |
| Bring bitches, ones who cook roast dinners |
| And roll Swishers, and only drink Olde English |
| In gold pimp cups |
| Wrestle Jaws to the cooking song |
| Lose a leg and carry on like there’s nothing wrong |
| Fuck rap, lets make Russian Donk |
| I moved out to Moscow like someone put me on |
| People often ask me what the fuck I’m on |
| My reply: «just your mum» |
| I’m fuckin' dumb |
| I try think of clever shit but nothin' comes |
| So I stick with what I know, nothin' much |
| Your girl might not swallow when I bust a nut |
| But tell her if her cookin' sucks, I’ma fuck her up |
| Like aye, aye yo, bitch, don’t ever bring me my steak cold |
| You better do what I say hoe |
| Or underneath a gravestone’s where you’ll lay holmes |
| But today was a good day, today was a good day |
| I didn’t even use my AK, I guess today was a good day |
| Huh, I guess I’m fast though |
| BMF shit, I get a half O |
| Buy a chain, buy a whip, but, fuck a smartphone |
| Cause I forget my pass code, I’m way too intelligent, shit |
| Bag of that fuego, I’m blazin' an element |
| It’s that Laigon regiment, North West resident |
| Gore-Tex, North Face, Cortez |
| I’m steppin' in the place |
| All-white Cortez |
| Turn yellow in the rave |
| I’m limpin' like a pimp with a cane |
| I’m on my Ricky James' shit sniffin' cocaine |
| That’s a hell of a drug, a hell of a drug |
| I’m benevolent but I’m an incredible cunt |
| Like, Cassie’s pussy |
| I have a kushy odour on the eds and them Xannies pushin' me over |
| Like, I hate being sober like Sosa |
| I’m all up and down |
| Bipolar my controller, cult Ayatollah |
| I am body drugged, it’s my persona |
| Change the channel, find the controller |
| I ain’t a little rat, I’m Fritz the Cat |
| Rock a Hitler 'tache, and keep my daughters in my Fritzl flat |
| Like, aye, aye yo! |
| Follow me deep in this cave, hoe |
| Like, I got my payroll |
| It’ll be okay if I say so |
| Today was a good day, today was a good day |
| Today was a good day, Today was a good day (or was it?) |
| It goes: one step, two step, three step, four step |
| Deliver Oz’s to your doorstep |
| Bitch, tell 'em who the man today |
| I’m at the rave, twisting J’s the size of Sandy’s brains |
| Yo, I tell a bitch skank away (skank bitch!) |
| But she’ll find me at the bar, sippin' Tanqueray |
| Shotty in the boot, might let it bang today |
| Hottie in the coup, givin' shines, made me slam the breaks |
| Ya bitch down to ride |
| Used to fucks with uppers, but now she love the downward time |
| Suttin', Suttin', Suttin', Cult Mountain life |
| Blow lines, no time for your sound advice |
| Plus I’m live-o, fill the styro' |
| I say I’m Milk, but what do I know? |
| Nothin' |
| I’m like a high rollin' cyclone |
| I’m on the yacht, you on the lilo |
| Fuck 'em |
| Yo Silk, pass the foil for the Oxy fix |
| I’m at the gate, movin' horse like a jockey’s whip |
| Your wife is on her knees tryna cop the dick |
| Look down like, sorry girl, I gots' to piss |