| Bobby bomb drums
|
| Rumble before they dig you up
|
| To the back of every city bus
|
| Hazzard County Duke of Earl
|
| With Sterling shoes and filthy tusks
|
| The cat of Coney Island
|
| Holy diving in the Dixie cup
|
| Slow your role
|
| Precious put the basket up
|
| The little tykes are tearing out
|
| The heir apparent cash for
|
| Bang the 808
|
| Flash the fang and pass the blood
|
| It ain’t about you Pokey
|
| Put your left foot in and pull back and up
|
| Follows move with urgency
|
| The perfect end to the perfect day
|
| Scotch tape your pieces closed
|
| Leak below, don’t work that way
|
| Daily wage, market up
|
| Our largest cup of
|
| Salt in the wound of a vaulted doom
|
| And an altar where the murder is made
|
| Bleeding Heart heart
|
| But I cut the line I’m standing in
|
| foot flooring
|
| With no mind of what a standard is
|
| Barrel roll our carpet out
|
| Go for broke and the open joke
|
| And the hope of fucking Tanner twins
|
| It happens his passion
|
| Is fastened to a plastic tray
|
| From the feeling of the acetate
|
| Door gets closed, so two roll
|
| In up on a Captain’s cape
|
| Get a to fuck you and him
|
| And I know what the exact to pay
|
| The match that’s made in hell
|
| Bellhop hat and sunken gaze
|
| Lunch wagon bragging
|
| About his racquetball and funnel cake
|
| Touch of class
|
| Touching slacks
|
| Tugging back his stunna shade
|
| Bobby 505, Famous Amos, Stainless Tungsten Blades
|
| My business in this bomb start with one part iron
|
| Two part Rocky Road with knobby nose tires
|
| One part leaky beacon, all Paul Ryan
|
| A half ton bomb on an all carb diet
|
| Fires don’t burn
|
| But we sure do from me to you
|
| A little gasoline tapestry
|
| With a magic bean and the evening news
|
| Easy chair
|
| Got a week to spare
|
| What it means to wear
|
| What the preachers do
|
| Ice Ice Baby like the Legionnaires' and freezer food
|
| No I don’t think I fit
|
| And don’t belong in this place
|
| Them loonies with them uniforms
|
| They talk differently
|
| It’s risky sitting
|
| Pious, quiet auctioned away
|
| When the benches brawl
|
| And sentence walls have all been erased
|
| A brand new day
|
| Has been shipped in on the way down
|
| Buck, buck, buck
|
| Get my children off the playground
|
| Hey now handkerchief
|
| Bunker calling A-Wax
|
| Unfortunate under the porch again
|
| With the Porky Pigs and stray cats
|
| On our way, running fast
|
| Crashed into the Krispy
|
| Kreme/C.R.E.A.M get the money
|
| But somebody must have missed me
|
| Kiss me, wish me luck
|
| Make sure my hair was tidy
|
| When I was amiss, many judged me quick
|
| And then changed the locks behind me
|
| Karma at it’s best
|
| While the rest of us were speaking
|
| And the farmer’s ho is sleeping
|
| We burgle, rang, and rung
|
| Took one last look
|
| And then took that shit for granted
|
| Hand it over slow like
|
| Let me know when fun’s here
|
| No blame will be placed
|
| No good fun without the Frontiers
|
| Capture flag for burning
|
| A whole platoon’s cabana
|
| Kids in charge with the KISS collage
|
| And the pistol’s Arm & Hammered
|
| Stare into his wheat
|
| Until he sneaked into the coatroom
|
| Rummage through the pockets
|
| Of the doctor’s dose to Toadstool
|
| What he saw, then he brushed them off
|
| But he clutched his jaw and fixed it
|
| Now he plays for keep but you can save the meek
|
| Because I inherit this bitch
|
| (Please) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Freezer Food , by - Rob Sonic. Song from the album Alice in Thunderdome, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп