The Prodigal Son Returns - текст песни
The Prodigal Son Returns
P-P-P pass the boota, pass the boota
Cause i wanna get, P-P-P pass the boota
P-P-P pass the boota, cause i wanna get off
All the fuckers that are tryin to dis the Kid Rock
You can get shot, but first i'm gonna get hot
When it comes to rhyms i got a new Caddy
Cause you got about as much flavor as a fuckin rice patty
Babe, ahh don't quit your day job
It lights the way ahh
But on the mic i'm God
And workin hard for your moneys what i x'ed hoe
Cause i wont sell my soul for some wax dipped in cheap gold
Par 4 motherfucker whatcha gonna do
1 wood 7 iron and i'm on the green at 2
With 1 putt i lyin a birdy in the hole
I drive the show putt for dough
So give it up hoe
I get a lot of funny looks
I aint stealin your music, my man
I aint to fuckin crook
Your playin dummy with your pride
And you cant tell me shit about a funny vibe
And all that jive your preachin, it's borin
God saved my soul, you save the fuckin rain forest
And i'll meet you in hell
The prodigal son Kid Rock i rock well
(only time will tell)
Well it's been coast from the midway
Smokin grass and sniffin lines
And at first glance you wouldnt guess no
I even make my own homemade wine
Moonshine, Red wine, stir it up, drink it up
Roll it up, light it up, toke down, pass around
Cut it up, light it up, sniff it up, rock it up
Gimme a pipe and i just might smoke it
Object it, sellect it, clean it, protect it
Suck it in, tie it up, stick it and inject it
All night, that's right, pop it drop it
Set it on your tongue and then trip til you peak
Die Texte der Lieder. Тексты песен - На сайте свыше 500 текстов песен.
|
