| Hide your daughters
|
| I stay drinking on an empty stomach
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| Till I sink and plummet
|
| Thinking of it
|
| Lets get blunted till we stinking of it
|
| I think I’ve done it cause I’m one hit
|
| Over the edge
|
| I dove from the ledge
|
| I can’t stand I fall through my legs
|
| Stumbling over the keg
|
| And it’s just the first inning, girls grinning
|
| And all I can see is the world spinning
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| I can’t move I puff mad boom
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| Trying to find the bathroom
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| Cause it feels like I’m gonna gag soon
|
| I’m torn from the bottles
|
| Praying through the porcelain gods
|
| To try and ease the pain and the scorch from the vodkas
|
| Walked into the topless
|
| Cause I gotta get brain soon
|
| For the right price Chris there is sex in the champagne room
|
| I can’t zoom cause I have whiskey dick
|
| I had to pay extra like a pay per view titty flick
|
| That’s my lucky charms so bitch lick me dick
|
| Suck the shit out like a fucking Pixy stick
|
| This shit
|
| Pimp shit
|
| It’s kind of explicit
|
| We twisted, drinking
|
| And puffin a lit spliff
|
| We party with bitches
|
| Erasing their lipstick
|
| This is the odd couple up in your district
|
| I master the disclosure
|
| Cause I never spit sober
|
| After the Coronas
|
| I’m trying to see the flash exposure
|
| The chick that’s a master in yoga
|
| Bending over backwards
|
| Stick a slit with more pick
|
| As if she stroked the cactus
|
| You see that stripper sipping overflowing glasses
|
| I’m trying to feed her liquor till she throws up on my mattress
|
| I’m logical but not in the sense
|
| That I can’t be seen chewing panty strings
|
| Hopping the fence
|
| My crib reeks of cigarettes, pot and incense
|
| I’m somewhat of a loner but the bottle’s my friend
|
| And I gotta a collection stored on the shelf
|
| So when I talk to the walls on the spot I’m not talking to 'self
|
| I’m akward as hell
|
| Drunk and stumbling
|
| My stomach’s rumbling
|
| You thinking I stop drinking
|
| Dumb assumption
|
| Cause this nigga got game
|
| When I chuck a pumpkin with flames to take your head off
|
| Like Ichabod Crane
|
| This shit
|
| Pimp shit
|
| It’s kind of explicit
|
| We twisted, drinking
|
| And puffin a lit spliff
|
| We party with bitches
|
| Erasing their lipstick
|
| This is the odd couple up in your district
|
| Now when the odd couple rustles
|
| And rumbling clubs
|
| There’s gonna be trouble for smucks
|
| Stashing up bundles of bucks
|
| Cause the first one of the sluts to come up to us
|
| Jump on a bus we’ll skid away until your lungs full of dust
|
| Bitch’s tongue in my nuts while I just humping her butt
|
| Puffing a blunt while I’m juggling the juzzling stunts
|
| Sit up in the front cause I’m drunk
|
| Cause I hit the bottle
|
| Application for a groupie?
|
| One question
|
| Do you spit or swallow?
|
| You wrestle like your in a brothel trying to earn your rent now
|
| Bend down I’ll pull my poison pen out
|
| Cause when the wolf destroys the hen house
|
| The feathers will fly
|
| Seventy five miles
|
| Whether I’m drunk or whether I’m high
|
| I busted dead on her eye
|
| Now she’s a blinded bitch
|
| Walk around with one eye shut
|
| On some pirate shit
|
| You better buy this quick period
|
| Like a bloody twat
|
| We’re all up in your face
|
| Like the money shot
|
| This shit
|
| Pimp shit
|
| It’s kind of explicit
|
| We twisted, drinking
|
| And puffin a lit spliff
|
| We party with bitches
|
| Erasing their lipstick
|
| This is the odd couple up in your district |