Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Drunk Dial, artist - CunninLynguists. Album song Strange Journey Volume Three, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.03.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Bad Taste
Song language: English
Drunk Dial |
Operator here’s my dime |
Connect me please |
I know that she’s at home |
It’s four o-clock on a Sunday morning |
Who the hell is calling my phone? |
Waking me up I’m stretching and yawning |
If you had any sense you’d leave me alone |
Wee hours of the morning and word is bond |
I’m in jail I need bail. |
Again, the word is bond |
Not James in a tux with olives draped on my cup |
With a dame all on me with healthy letters to cup |
So what up? |
Can you free me 'fore my prints get back? |
And they run em through the system and realize that I’m black |
All I remember was the stripper then I faded to rack |
Said her name was December than she sat on my lap |
«Merry Crimmuh» |
Liquor and higher power my witness |
I thought fleeing The People was just a matter of fitness |
With all these nice drinks, compliments of Dennis |
Whoever the fuck that is |
«Dennis is this!» |
Two middle fingers up |
«Dennis is this!» |
Dennis tab maxed out on titties and fifths |
Whoever the fuck Dennis is, Dennis is pissed! |
Cus I don’t think that dude we was drinking with was Dennis at all, fam! |
It’s four o-clock on a Sunday morning |
Who the hell is calling my phone? |
Waking me up I’m stretching and yawning |
If you had any sense you’d leave me alone |
Ha, Yup |
I’m aware it’s four in the morning |
But I just wanna tell you I’m drunk and I’m kinda horny |
I know it gets annoying, but I been losing my grip |
Every woman I talk to I treat like a therapist and it’s a bitch |
Mainly cause I now consider you one |
I wanna let you go, but every time I seem to screw up |
Now that’s the problem with the space that you occupy |
It’s going great and then the thought of you would cross my mind |
A box of wine and a carton of coffin nails will |
Convince me now would be a great time for hate mailin' |
Like «Hey bitch! |
How the hell have you been? |
Remember me? |
We were dating and you slept with my friends!» |
I just thought that I’d remind you in case you ever forget it |
And train yourself to believe that you’re not a terrible wretch |
Ha |
You broke my heart into like a million pieces |
So here’s another dim-litted picture of my penis |
Whoa! |
What the fuck is going on Grieves |
You saved my number under the wrong name in your phone? |
Is that a picture of your??? |
I’ma pretend I didn’t see that |
All that rain got you suicidal up in Seatt… ohhhhh |
You had to much to drink again |
Whiskey and a cellphone ain’t never gonna be your friend |
You booze you lose, homie you been warned |
You better off using your cellphone to watch porn |
Grab some lotion &a napkin |
Jack off then pass out |
All these drunk texts’ll have you fucked off and ass out |
I hope you black out before you do anymore damage |
I checked your timeline, homie… why you Tweetin in Spanish? |
I understand if this is what you gotta go through |
But when you sober up I got some screenshots to show you |
Grieves, bro trust me |
And you gonna be hella happy that all of them texts didn’t go through |
It’s four o-clock on a Sunday morning |
Who the hell is calling my phone? |
Waking me up I’m stretching and yawning |
If you had any sense you’d leave me alone |
Ooh! |
Ahh! |
That’s the angle |
She’s gonna love that one |