Texty:
A1

tone This ain't for iTunes, this ain't for sing-alongs This is Sinatra at the opera, bring a blond Preferably with a fat ass who can sing a song Wrong

I guess you heard me cry You smiled at me Like, Jesus to a child I'm blessed, I know Heaven sent, heaven stole You smiled at me Like, Jesus to a child

we can see a movie Or maybe we can see a play on Saturday (Saturday) Or maybe we can roll a tree And feel the breeze and listen to a symphony Or maybe

You walk around with my heart in your pocket You know I'd do anything you ask Sometimes I sit around and wish this never started But I know I can't improve

picked from the swamps So nigga how you roll a blunt? Aiyyo, how you roll a blunt Flip the script on some other shit like how you roll a cunt Now, I

took 'bout a motherfuckin' week, didn't it? Down in a motherfuckin' creek, didn't they? Mr. Roberts found his ass out, fishin' Sunday evenin', didn't he? Gift-wrapped in a

dat (And they) Ain't scared to touch ya (And they) Mite rub ya butt (And they) Make a nigga cum (And they) Mite give you some (If ya) (I don't) See nothing wrong A

'all ready get your lighter put your fire in the air I'm bout to blow this up (Oh yeah) Its a it's a on now Petey Pab done and graduated Broke a loose

can scoop somethin' from the wildest spot And la di da da da Tip toein' through the tulips, 'scuse me Looking for a night like, cutie Bad momma driven like rule me With a