Oh yeah, oh yeah She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it I need race car Top down to match my ceiling I don't have none (Have none) Dollar billies (Have none) (One time, oh West Side)
She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it I need race car Top down to match my ceiling I don't have none, have none Dollar billies in my bag, run— bag, run Fuck your feelings I detach them
Wonder why I had them With her bad lungs Running back to 'em Keep coming back if I hadn't known Aren't you tired of running— Never understand why Probably just a habit
She run it till the cash come Wonder what happened Busy on the inside Why ain't got the answer Why ain't got hands I don't got answer You and your friends Wherever the bands tucked Then—
She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it I need race car Top down to match my ceiling I don't have none, have none Dollar billies in my bag, run— bag, run Fuck your feelings I de—
Pilot, I've gone high Parachute, this my first If we land in quicksand Tell him too, I might die Body-bagged, probably glad Had that price on my head Took her hand in July Couple months, Fall again
Hate my day job; I don't feel it I need race car Top down like my ceiling I don't have none, have none Yeah, yeah
She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it I need race car Top down to match my ceiling I don't have none, have none Dollar billies in my bag, run— bag, run Fuck your feelings I de—
Oh, West Side Oh, West Side Oh, West SideTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
