歌曲 | Livin' At The Corner Of Dude & Catastrophe - Original |
歌手 | MC Frontalot |
专辑 | Secrets From The Future |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
Where I'm livin', it's hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I'm livin', it's hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Woke up by the pool again. | |
Must have played the fool again. | |
Wonder what them hooligans put on the grill that stinks | |
Kind of like burnt fur and regurg'ed drinks | |
With an undertone of the acorn | |
And leather that's laid on | |
Thick like Liz Claiborne. | |
Step over with big trepidation, | |
Lift up the top off the meat cooking station | |
To discover my homie Todd! | |
I said "Oh my God, | |
What grim façade | |
Do you meet me with in my wakefulness?" | |
I had too many Stellas and they all was crisp; | |
Must I rise up in the morning with my squirrel desisted | |
From the world? Insisted, as I did | |
This instant, that | |
Him up in heaven again is premature? | |
If only reality would concur! | |
Poke him with the tongs. Dude won't wake up. | |
Put him on the lawn; Ray's about to cook a steak up | |
And this ain't no kind of mausoleum. | |
Got to get the high degree on. | |
Todd's onomatopoeia | |
Got already all used up — I mean he sizzled — | |
Ain't nothing left but char, bone, and gristle. | |
My heart is fissile: I mean it could break | |
Like crystal; he never learned to whistle. Don't rake | |
His cadaver up, wassamadda with your mind? | |
He ain't a lawn clipping. We been knuckleheads since old times. | |
Dig out the batting helmet and the bat | |
'Cause we're all about to have a funeral, and that's that. | |
We'll do it after breakfast. We'll do it up proper. | |
We'll drop all his ashes out the Airwolf copter, | |
All singing up dirges, all spreading out blossoms, | |
And it's gonna b-b-b-be frickin' awesome! | |
Where I'm livin', it's hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I'm livin', it's hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Six bong rips later: we ain't going to the helipad, | |
Standin' ‘round hella sad, | |
Wonder where them Stellas at. | |
All these dudes] ain't huge on sentiment, | |
Still they want to say a little something to the benefit | |
Of layin' Todd's soul to rest. | |
I cold regressed, contemplated old regrets | |
And said, "Man why he even got to do a thing | |
Like pass out on the Bar-B-King?" | |
I'm tryin' to bring from like recesses in my mind | |
A word or two that wouldn't prove unkind. | |
Aligned as he was with the less-than-angelic, | |
Trafficking black tar smack & psychedelics | |
In that little-ass van of his, and drunk doing it, | |
Knowing what the right thing to do was but eschewing it, | |
It'd seem pretty probable | |
Flames are audible: | |
That's the duty that Todd'll pull, | |
Not just in death, but in after-that, | |
Like the bat out the h-e-double-vertical-slat | |
But inbound in the case of this rodent, | |
Like when he got peeled-out on and ‘sploded, | |
Or indeed when he got shanked in the joint — | |
Hella causing me to wonder if there's even a point | |
To our shepherdly tending of his life's ending. | |
Bet he's chilling at Friendly's | |
And gonna be back in the neighborhood shortly, | |
Discussing how awesome it is to be portly, | |
Reporting the slant he just got on with Blister | |
(Drank till his wrists hurt, | |
Boned the ghost of your sister). | |
The dude's a bucket kickster when he has to be | |
And this one wasn't like a masterpiece | |
So yes we're depressed but not drastically... | |
Livin' at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I'm livin', it's hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I'm livin', it's hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
I'll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time. | |
I'll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time. |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Woke up by the pool again. | |
Must have played the fool again. | |
Wonder what them hooligans put on the grill that stinks | |
Kind of like burnt fur and regurg' ed drinks | |
With an undertone of the acorn | |
And leather that' s laid on | |
Thick like Liz Claiborne. | |
Step over with big trepidation, | |
Lift up the top off the meat cooking station | |
To discover my homie Todd! | |
I said " Oh my God, | |
What grim fa ade | |
Do you meet me with in my wakefulness?" | |
I had too many Stellas and they all was crisp | |
Must I rise up in the morning with my squirrel desisted | |
From the world? Insisted, as I did | |
This instant, that | |
Him up in heaven again is premature? | |
If only reality would concur! | |
Poke him with the tongs. Dude won' t wake up. | |
Put him on the lawn Ray' s about to cook a steak up | |
And this ain' t no kind of mausoleum. | |
Got to get the high degree on. | |
Todd' s onomatopoeia | |
Got already all used up I mean he sizzled | |
Ain' t nothing left but char, bone, and gristle. | |
My heart is fissile: I mean it could break | |
Like crystal he never learned to whistle. Don' t rake | |
His cadaver up, wassamadda with your mind? | |
He ain' t a lawn clipping. We been knuckleheads since old times. | |
Dig out the batting helmet and the bat | |
' Cause we' re all about to have a funeral, and that' s that. | |
We' ll do it after breakfast. We' ll do it up proper. | |
We' ll drop all his ashes out the Airwolf copter, | |
All singing up dirges, all spreading out blossoms, | |
And it' s gonna bbbbe frickin' awesome! | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Six bong rips later: we ain' t going to the helipad, | |
Standin' ' round hella sad, | |
Wonder where them Stellas at. | |
All these dudes ain' t huge on sentiment, | |
Still they want to say a little something to the benefit | |
Of layin' Todd' s soul to rest. | |
I cold regressed, contemplated old regrets | |
And said, " Man why he even got to do a thing | |
Like pass out on the BarBKing?" | |
I' m tryin' to bring from like recesses in my mind | |
A word or two that wouldn' t prove unkind. | |
Aligned as he was with the lessthanangelic, | |
Trafficking black tar smack psychedelics | |
In that littleass van of his, and drunk doing it, | |
Knowing what the right thing to do was but eschewing it, | |
It' d seem pretty probable | |
Flames are audible: | |
That' s the duty that Todd' ll pull, | |
Not just in death, but in afterthat, | |
Like the bat out the hedoubleverticalslat | |
But inbound in the case of this rodent, | |
Like when he got peeledout on and ' sploded, | |
Or indeed when he got shanked in the joint | |
Hella causing me to wonder if there' s even a point | |
To our shepherdly tending of his life' s ending. | |
Bet he' s chilling at Friendly' s | |
And gonna be back in the neighborhood shortly, | |
Discussing how awesome it is to be portly, | |
Reporting the slant he just got on with Blister | |
Drank till his wrists hurt, | |
Boned the ghost of your sister. | |
The dude' s a bucket kickster when he has to be | |
And this one wasn' t like a masterpiece | |
So yes we' re depressed but not drastically... | |
Livin' at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
I' ll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time. | |
I' ll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time. |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Woke up by the pool again. | |
Must have played the fool again. | |
Wonder what them hooligans put on the grill that stinks | |
Kind of like burnt fur and regurg' ed drinks | |
With an undertone of the acorn | |
And leather that' s laid on | |
Thick like Liz Claiborne. | |
Step over with big trepidation, | |
Lift up the top off the meat cooking station | |
To discover my homie Todd! | |
I said " Oh my God, | |
What grim fa ade | |
Do you meet me with in my wakefulness?" | |
I had too many Stellas and they all was crisp | |
Must I rise up in the morning with my squirrel desisted | |
From the world? Insisted, as I did | |
This instant, that | |
Him up in heaven again is premature? | |
If only reality would concur! | |
Poke him with the tongs. Dude won' t wake up. | |
Put him on the lawn Ray' s about to cook a steak up | |
And this ain' t no kind of mausoleum. | |
Got to get the high degree on. | |
Todd' s onomatopoeia | |
Got already all used up I mean he sizzled | |
Ain' t nothing left but char, bone, and gristle. | |
My heart is fissile: I mean it could break | |
Like crystal he never learned to whistle. Don' t rake | |
His cadaver up, wassamadda with your mind? | |
He ain' t a lawn clipping. We been knuckleheads since old times. | |
Dig out the batting helmet and the bat | |
' Cause we' re all about to have a funeral, and that' s that. | |
We' ll do it after breakfast. We' ll do it up proper. | |
We' ll drop all his ashes out the Airwolf copter, | |
All singing up dirges, all spreading out blossoms, | |
And it' s gonna bbbbe frickin' awesome! | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Six bong rips later: we ain' t going to the helipad, | |
Standin' ' round hella sad, | |
Wonder where them Stellas at. | |
All these dudes ain' t huge on sentiment, | |
Still they want to say a little something to the benefit | |
Of layin' Todd' s soul to rest. | |
I cold regressed, contemplated old regrets | |
And said, " Man why he even got to do a thing | |
Like pass out on the BarBKing?" | |
I' m tryin' to bring from like recesses in my mind | |
A word or two that wouldn' t prove unkind. | |
Aligned as he was with the lessthanangelic, | |
Trafficking black tar smack psychedelics | |
In that littleass van of his, and drunk doing it, | |
Knowing what the right thing to do was but eschewing it, | |
It' d seem pretty probable | |
Flames are audible: | |
That' s the duty that Todd' ll pull, | |
Not just in death, but in afterthat, | |
Like the bat out the hedoubleverticalslat | |
But inbound in the case of this rodent, | |
Like when he got peeledout on and ' sploded, | |
Or indeed when he got shanked in the joint | |
Hella causing me to wonder if there' s even a point | |
To our shepherdly tending of his life' s ending. | |
Bet he' s chilling at Friendly' s | |
And gonna be back in the neighborhood shortly, | |
Discussing how awesome it is to be portly, | |
Reporting the slant he just got on with Blister | |
Drank till his wrists hurt, | |
Boned the ghost of your sister. | |
The dude' s a bucket kickster when he has to be | |
And this one wasn' t like a masterpiece | |
So yes we' re depressed but not drastically... | |
Livin' at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
Where I' m livin', it' s hard to say, | |
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe. | |
I' ll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time. | |
I' ll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time. |