Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Eksie ou, artist - Jack Parow. Album song Eksie Ou, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.09.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Tunecore
Song language: Afrikaans
Eksie ou(original) |
Eksie eksie ou |
E-e-e-e-eksie ou |
Eksie eksie ou |
E-e-e-e-eksie ou |
Hello (x2) |
Voor die gym voor dit opmaak, met 'n protein shake |
2ure op die treadmill anders is ons spyt |
Men’s Health covers, voel altyd fokken great |
Want al wat regtig tel in die lewe is hoe jy lyk |
In die bed teen 8uur met 'n goeie fokken boek |
Groot in die bolyf, maar lig in die broek |
Tel die Energade op, brandy moet jy neersit |
Hang nog by clubs uit al is ons amper 40 |
Date net dom blondes, want dis fokken maklik |
Probeer heeltyd diep wees, maar bly oppervlakig |
Lifestyle centres en Clinique for men |
Lifestyle blogs, lyk soos Barbie se Ken |
Pims en fokken lemonade, Kauai en Buzz |
Nul personality, life enhancing drugs |
So klap jou fokken hanne vir die moffies met die guns |
En kom soek Parow by die bar as jy lus is vir 'n man |
Sit heel voor in die kerk, ons lewe bo ons ryk |
Ons bid alweer werk, die bediende moet mos stryk |
Kaarte by Woolworths en Edgars accounts |
Country Road vat my huis toe, die last boy scout |
Nog 'n huisie in 'n kompleks, twee karre innie garage |
Mugg en Bean breakfasts, eet net Ceaser salaads |
Bybel in die handsak, maar as dit moeilik gaan dan skei ons |
Cafe op die straat hoek, maar as ons iets soek dan ry ons |
Mannies en peddies, botox en lifts |
Tuinboys en nannies, mouldy en miff |
Ons huis lyk soos 'n ad vir Mr. |
Price Home |
Ons almal fokken lyk soos moerse nice clones |
Getroud met Mr. |
Min, gemis deur min |
Bloed rooi fokken lipstick en hare mooi geperm |
Familie vakansies op Knysna of Plett |
Asb kan iemand ons net fokken red |
Ons dra brille sonder lense, bly in open plan flats |
Vol bal en klou tafels en opgerolde yoga mats |
Side path hairstyles en sailor tattoos |
Ons Facebook vol gepak van fotos van on shoes |
Rook net tabak deur ou oom pype |
Dit proe dalk soos kak maar dit lyk baie greater |
Nog 'n kak fotograaf, nog 'n Ice fokken model |
Nog 'n graphic designer, nog 'n Valpre bottle |
Vintage fokken klere, ryk soos homeless shelters |
Probeer almal different wees, maar lyk die fokken selfde |
Praat met n aksent maar kom van die kaap af |
Jy kan ons drop in 'n music video straight vanie straat af |
Ons almal speel in bands, maar speel nooit fokken shows nie |
Ons is almal self-conscious omdat niemand ons onthou nie |
Nog 'n band uit die paarl, nog 'n waste of space |
Nog 'n and Union bier, nog fokol om te wys |
Sandwich by Superette, wyn by Power and the Glory |
Meestal by die bar want ons lewens is te boring |
Nog 'n klein bietjie makeup, lyk soos 'n post mortom |
Nog 'n pose, nog 'n smile, nog 'n album op We Are Awesome |
(translation) |
Action exie old |
E-e-e-e-eksie ou |
Action exie old |
E-e-e-e-eksie ou |
Hello (x2) |
In front of the gym before making it up, with a protein shake |
2 hours on the treadmill otherwise we are sorry |
Men's Health covers, always feel fucking great |
Because all that really counts in life is how you look |
In bed at 8am with a good fucking book |
Large in the upper body, but light in the trousers |
Pick up the Energade, brandy you have to put down |
Still hanging out at clubs even though we are almost 40 |
Do not date stupid blondes, because it's fucking easy |
Try to be deep all the time, but stay superficial |
Lifestyle centers in Clinique for men |
Lifestyle blogs, look like Barbie's Ken |
Pims and Fucking Lemonade, Kauai and Buzz |
Zero personality, life enhancing drugs |
So clap your fucking hands for the moffies with the favor |
And come look for Parow at the bar if you fancy a man |
Sit at the very front of the church, we live above our empire |
We pray for work again, the servant must iron |
Cards at Woolworths and Edgars accounts |
Country Road takes me home, the last boy scout |
Another cottage in a complex, two cars in garage |
Mugg and Bean Breakfasts, Do Not Eat Ceaser Salads |
Bible in the handbag, but if it's going to be difficult then we separate |
Cafe on the street corner, but if we're looking for something then we drive |
Mannies and peddies, botox and lifts |
Garden boys and nannies, moldy and miff |
Our house looks like an ad for Mr. |
Price Home |
We all fucking look like morse nice clones |
Married to Mr. |
Few, missed by few |
Blood red fucking lipstick and hair nicely paired |
Family holidays in Knysna or Plett |
Please can someone fucking save us |
We wear glasses without lenses, stay in open plan flats |
Full ball and claw tables and rolled up yoga mats |
Side path hairstyles and sailor tattoos |
Our Facebook packed with photos of on shoes |
Just smoke tobacco through old uncle pipes |
It may taste like shit but it looks much bigger |
Another shit photographer, another Ice fucking model |
Another graphic designer, another Valpre bottle |
Vintage fucking clothes, rich as homeless shelters |
Trying to be all different, but the fucking looks the same |
Speak with an accent but come from the Cape |
You can drop us off in a music video straight down the street |
We all play in bands, but never play fucking shows |
We are all self-conscious because no one remembers us |
Another band from Paarl, another waste of space |
Another and Union beer, another fokol to show |
Sandwich by Superette, wine by Power and the Glory |
Mostly at the bar because our lives are too boring |
Another little bit of makeup, looks like a post mortom |
Another pose, another smile, another album on We Are Awesome |