Bar One.
We the best bar none, hands down,
d*** clowns. You don't wanna spar son.
Mad similes and smart puns.
Your baby blue me in the bushes. Aborigines and dart guns.
Large funds, but I'm trying to get that TARP money.
Angel slaying, find me laying with the harp honey's.
Still living like I'm swimming with the sharks sonny;
Rumbling & stumbling through life like a bar rummy.
A smart dummy keeps numbing the brain,
cover the pain, I gotta keep it smothered in claim.
"Task Rok", but, that's not what my mother would say.
My wonderful day is dabbing on a budder buffet.
So get ready mother lover's, cause we about to take it there.
Taking off. Plane chartered. You ain't gotta pay a fare.
Just inhale the vapor like you was afraid of air
then you'll be flying, even if you're just laying there.
I'm still running like Forest Gump.
I'll turn your forest of trees into a forest of trunks.
And while that line's sinking in, seeping through your porous skin,
I'm a end the verse cause it's time to bring the in.
So if you're feeling how I'm feeling throw your hands high.
Do the magpie, touch the d*** sky.
Do a stupid little dance, but, don't ask why,
and tell your parents that I'm not really a bad guy.
If you're feeling how I'm feeling throw your hands high.
Do the magpie, touch the d*** sky.
Do a stupid little dance, but, don't ask why.
Do a stupid little dance, but, don't ask why.
That's right ladies,
I wanna see that a** shake.
From the Bonita apple bottoms to the pan cakes.
Throw your hands high, sorta like your testifying,
I'm death defying on the mic... While the rest are dying.
Proleter pushing keys like Colombians.
Honey in the bed room helping count the money in.
f*** the rubber bands brother bring the bungees in
Duffel bag; leather like Crocodile Dundee's skin.
Oil burning through the night, keep the Ti hot.
Eyes getting redder but I'm never needing eye drops.
Hit the macro, never spit a wack flow
"cats" know task go harder than a flag pole.
International, don't know where im landing next.
2012, we'll prolly play a show on Planet X.
Having s** with an alien chick,
in my butane powered t**anium ship.
So throw your hands high!
...Or throw your tentacles.
All my peoples! All my ...Extraterrestrials!
All my outcasts feeling out of place,
we get nine dabs deep then we chill in outter spáce.
(Not Confirmed beyond this line)
Yeah, there's your chance to show'em man,
Show'em the move you got!
What's the matter? I thought- Running man.
Yeah, you didn't know i could do the running man did you?
I, I'm mowing the lawn,
I'm doing that, doing that grocery shop thing.
It's kinda like mowing lawn
Only now i'm putting stuff into the basket!
We the best bar none, hands down,
d*** clowns. You don't wanna spar son.
Mad similes and smart puns.
Your baby blue me in the bushes. Aborigines and dart guns.
Large funds, but I'm trying to get that TARP money.
Angel slaying, find me laying with the harp honey's.
Still living like I'm swimming with the sharks sonny;
Rumbling & stumbling through life like a bar rummy.
A smart dummy keeps numbing the brain,
cover the pain, I gotta keep it smothered in claim.
"Task Rok", but, that's not what my mother would say.
My wonderful day is dabbing on a budder buffet.
So get ready mother lover's, cause we about to take it there.
Taking off. Plane chartered. You ain't gotta pay a fare.
Just inhale the vapor like you was afraid of air
then you'll be flying, even if you're just laying there.
I'm still running like Forest Gump.
I'll turn your forest of trees into a forest of trunks.
And while that line's sinking in, seeping through your porous skin,
I'm a end the verse cause it's time to bring the in.
So if you're feeling how I'm feeling throw your hands high.
Do the magpie, touch the d*** sky.
Do a stupid little dance, but, don't ask why,
and tell your parents that I'm not really a bad guy.
If you're feeling how I'm feeling throw your hands high.
Do the magpie, touch the d*** sky.
Do a stupid little dance, but, don't ask why.
Do a stupid little dance, but, don't ask why.
That's right ladies,
I wanna see that a** shake.
From the Bonita apple bottoms to the pan cakes.
Throw your hands high, sorta like your testifying,
I'm death defying on the mic... While the rest are dying.
Proleter pushing keys like Colombians.
Honey in the bed room helping count the money in.
f*** the rubber bands brother bring the bungees in
Duffel bag; leather like Crocodile Dundee's skin.
Oil burning through the night, keep the Ti hot.
Eyes getting redder but I'm never needing eye drops.
Hit the macro, never spit a wack flow
"cats" know task go harder than a flag pole.
International, don't know where im landing next.
2012, we'll prolly play a show on Planet X.
Having s** with an alien chick,
in my butane powered t**anium ship.
So throw your hands high!
...Or throw your tentacles.
All my peoples! All my ...Extraterrestrials!
All my outcasts feeling out of place,
we get nine dabs deep then we chill in outter spáce.
(Not Confirmed beyond this line)
Yeah, there's your chance to show'em man,
Show'em the move you got!
What's the matter? I thought- Running man.
Yeah, you didn't know i could do the running man did you?
I, I'm mowing the lawn,
I'm doing that, doing that grocery shop thing.
It's kinda like mowing lawn
Only now i'm putting stuff into the basket!