you see me roll through(Yup) Got the whole crew Timbaland he produce If you a fruit, Produce Riding in a old school(pimpen) like I'm poss to She french
I'll take you back to 1969 Let's hit the city of freedom like old times It's getting dirty underneath the blue sky Imagine you and me counting the butterflies
't throw my old nickels at hoe's I'm just glad we can get close, for breakfast in the mornin' We can fly out to Paris France for the French toast You
fuck bitch, chuck bitch Why you talkin shit? Better duck bitch Before your dome get hit This shit is Twiztid deeper than that Old French braid Stickier
again Oh I must've been dreamin Since when is dreamin a crime See I was burstin with desire I was a boy of just thirteen She was an old friend of the
your rhymes are puppy chow Made another million, so competitors bow Homeboy, hold on, my rhymes are so strong Nothing could go wrong, so why do you prolong Songs
Right now (ooh) I keep women in thongs, comin' along (ooh) Invisually set stone, some of them prone (whoa) I can tell u aint never had someone this one night, have'em hummin my song
. That old river keeps a-rollin' while she's restin' in her bed, and the music runs on like Big Muddy through my head in that lazy old three-quarter time
rice-a-roni Nominated for a Tony For acting like a phony Watching twilight zoney On my forty-two inch sony This is just a long song It ain't no poem
sky Back on the road not a moment too soon Dish ran away with some other spoon [chorus x2] Wicked and wierd, I'm a road hog with an old dog Singing slow songs
We were born in the seventies The rippin' and rhyming and brethren see We're filling taste great In the old school I was eight For the new school I was
So I'll write another squirrel song again You are so ugly So butt ugly Why won't you die? I would like to stab you in the eye with a really hot French
Ed, that sounds nice, what is it? Thank you, it?s a, it's an alphabet song I?m working on Oh great, a whole new alphabet, I just learned the old one
primping adjusting his nose as he reads from his scroll folksy knockwurst peel back the skin of French and what do you find? follicles intertwinning
laughing about? He looks so beautiful when they laugh . . . Don: That's what my psychiatrist used to say . . . Phyllis: Twelve years. It's the same story there with that song
street Well what the hell did you expect And the old laundrette is hissing our song Like it, it doesn't give a damn And the cars are all french kissing
s took sometime, but we're on the right track Now where do we go from here? Sick and tored of worthless statements Pissed off with the same old songs
! 'K yeah, That's right, the drums are right, that sounds good, okay... I don't like this short kind of song. Uh, I'll do it in french this time
