Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dot Ave, artist - Slaine. Date of issue: 18.08.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Dot Ave |
| Sittin' in the bar, playing Keno on a Wednesday |
| Pumpin' quarters in the jukebox, MJ |
| Rockin' Billie Jean, Jilly nodding off, silly |
| Sniffin' thirty millie beans, wet-brain Willy |
| Flippin' out, what’s he really mean? |
| I can’t hear him, he’s incoherent mmmmmm |
| Between the swearing and the staring, Sharon a cokey-eyed spooky chick |
| Kinda crackhead-ish |
| Bitch got middle-aged hips and a black fetish |
| Tapping a Newpie ash |
| I caught a buzz with her, starin' at her groupie ass |
| Doin' drugs with her, she spoke of a kindergartener |
| Sipping whiskey, telling me that he’ll get into Harvard |
| I been a part of it to benefit demented hardship |
| The streets that I grew on ruined by the scent of garbage |
| What am I doin' here? |
| I can’t escape this place |
| I’m trapped staring in the mirror, standing face-to-face |
| I don’t really need the things I do not have |
| Where I’m from, when they shoot at you, you shot back |
| Everybody knows I rose and it’s not bad |
| But now I’m back in a bar room on Dot Ave |
| Oh! |
| Here I am |
| Back in the same place again |
| Do you wanna know |
| Where I been? |
| Or where I’m gonna go? |
| And when I find my way |
| Tell me where to follow |
| Dorchester, where they pack burners in the whore’s fest |
| More or less, I store four fours up in my drawers |
| Filled with pills, yayo, bullets, warm cans of Coors |
| Yesterday’s wars, burnt bridges of festering thoughts |
| In the honor of excellence |
| Commit seven sins, I live next to hell where heaven ends |
| I murder stories from purgatory and prisoners |
| Dead cultures are twisted in this frigid religiousness |
| Scriptures in the hood, wooden shovels to dig a ditch |
| Figaro, they treat me like a negro who’s getting rich |
| I take a swig 'n swish whiskey, I’m a bit intense |
| So maybe I’ma product of this ignorance |
| It sticks with me, my church is full of serpents |
| I jerk the curtains closed, this time I’m certain |
| The police is lurking, I’m out of work again |
| My best friend just OD’d, I sold some percs to him |