| Ain’t no smellin' what the rose got cookin'
|
| How many flights just got charged for rebookin'?
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| Google Maps, backpacks, ?? |
| wraps cookin'
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| Get through all the bullshit, we keep pushin'
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| Long as we got suites that we can keep kush in
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| Me and Deac lost like change in seat cushions
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| Tryna find the right highway the high way
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| Speedin' to catch time, stopped on a dime for
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| Five 50 pound turkeys crossin' I-9
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| We lookin' at the weed like we lost our mind
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| On the road again, a journey to the unknown again
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| Another episode when you suppose it ends?
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| Week after week, test my patience
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| Sleep deprivation’s the key to miss three destinations
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| Passed out, drunk, couldn’t speak—every nation’s
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| itinerary’s missing the week’s reservations
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| I’ll rest my feet where the peeps don’t know the Strange
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| Lucky I’m a creep and the streets don’t know my name
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| We’ve seen so many towns and I got so many memories
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| But one comes to mind the first time we hit up Helsinki
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| We did the show and hit the afterparty
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| One girl hit the bathroom, I went after, probably
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| It was totally destroyed, and I ain’t talkin' about the feces
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| The toilet was lyin' on the floor in pieces
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| She literally shitted in the toilet so hard
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| that it split and got obliterated, had to get her load off
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| Nothing but strangeness
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| We’re down in Jozi, South Africa, greet our brethren
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| These women got me thinkin' dirty thoughts like I’m dead
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| We nightclubbin', all of a sudden I got her hands inside my pants
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| sayin' «White boy, where you’d learn to dance?»
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| We’re out in Adelaide, Australia where the promoter lost it
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| What’s that pill on the pool table? |
| That’s an E somebody dropped
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| This is too be «m» but out of hesitation he drops it
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| like «I felt like partyin' anyways,» aw fuck it
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| In the rain, we ran from Miami hurricanes
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| And left lanes on Autobahn lanes
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| with foot on the gas, GPS on the dash
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| while all the names looked the same on the signs we passed
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| We chased bears on Aspen streets
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| And caught eyes in Alaska that lasted weeks
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| Strippers took my mojo with cheats in Santa Fe
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| And in the Netherlands I was asked to pull Santa’s sleigh
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| The two of us were for according to Suffa
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| Every city looks the same lookin' up from the gutter
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| So hook me up with another round, dude they’re lovin' the sound
|
| So march the groupies backstage, give each other a pound
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| Ha, meal recognize meal
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| With Debris so hungry on the mechanized wheel
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| You got a certified feel?
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| Leave some chips on the tour bus
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| And serenade a beer like «Bitch, just the two of us» |