Lyrics

fuck those 7 rings I got 3 we can switch seats here for a few, like channels on the Telly, whew, as I’m lookin for Liverpool…Oh I just can’t stop writing, my twister sister tunes, in a black Toyota Corolla with this rebellious pair of blues…stuck in a cycle, or, maybe on one? Whatever you decide, I’ll go ahead and ride with you…

it’s not the path i envisioned, but a broken roads still concrete…well, either that, or its dust blowin’ in, the breeze…now…

breathe…

1…2…

breathe…

3…4…

what the fucks wrong with me,

5…6…

tearin’ up sticks,
once again I’m miffed,
ended up in an ambulance!
Oh! I’m,
blowin’ into town like a tornado should blow in a Tampa flash of lightning!
and there’s a derecho in Des Moines,
blowin’ in, the daughters wind!
she says shes a low class kind, I can see right through that rich little lie, she’s a high class indica kinda strain!
man fuck this stupid train!
I really hate my job!
my music sucks!
I’m mad at someone’s mom,
for being absent as she screams into a tree,
all because she wanted, her very first little diamond ring…
I don’t need a big one,
a little shine will do,
that’s why they make an S-10 honey,
can’t fit our fun in 4 doors! don’t be a goof!
so just wait for me,
and drink that drink,
and always sing those tunes!
and if you play it right, girl,
the universe is comin’ home with you…

7…8…now we got 9…
there’s 10 different types of horses, in that motorized stable of mine,
ohhhh,
when it hits 11, illness starts to act a fool,
but right there at midnight,
the moon usher grooved in her blues…

YEAH! (x3)
peace up!
Johnny cash in a feminine rat rod!
body looks a lil different, designed by a mod,
ooo,
that perfect little twist, of artificial bliss,
bitterly blooming an all American bitch!
team USA, rap Olympian mane,
I don’t need a damn, car, truck, twang,
train, knife, gun, bomb, BANG! my voice is the vessel, its time for us to wrestle, I’m back to smackdown those Blues!
those fucking Blues!
Look! CK is finally on the news!
because she locked away both of us boo,
in a prison of lies, that she tried hide,
behind those lyin, but pretty, hazel hurricane kinda eyes,
or at least that’s how they look to me…but, I lost my glasses and you wouldn’t help
me see, so I rain into the counter as I cried into the sink,
and we once again saw, just a bitty little leak,
of some real American beauty, behind the singing wind of which she whips!

you never should have touched me!
I’m the daughter of the Wind!
and it’s too bad for you, the last montage and crew,
they just packed a bag,
you think the curtain closed on you!?
how it could it, don’t be silly, you’re a legend why dispute it, even if that broken brain, couldn’t possibly compute it, with words she wrote so clearly on a screen, i was dehydrated, and,
i almost died!

call up DJ KHALED,
I want that Million Dollar Mullet Magic,
we can use it to donate water bottles to schools,
so we don’t see a thirst that looks so tragic,
as it’s crashin’,
check the vital signs…

Letter limit, dang