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Stepped inside this depth of a dive |
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with nothing but my breath and this rep that I'm riding |
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Check around the room to get a fresh look |
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Most these names already in the guest book |
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So I'm gonna sit on my stool and sip solo |
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The missing half of a stack of ripped photos |
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If she don't know so, the odds of blowing up |
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Watch the word work, the gods are growing up |
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I never had trouble with the lovable |
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Walk down that hill and **** all the buffalo |
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And by the time I get done with the small town |
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Ashes of bridges and all the walls fall down |
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Sitting in the middle of dialogue |
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I know I'm not the brightest star |
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Otherwise I'd probably be one foot out the front entrance |
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Before one sentence even starts breathin - I'm leavin' |
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Don't need another reason to carry guilt |
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But she got a fair grill and she very built |
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Plus I like her smile and her eyes are wild |
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Should I try to aspire you to write my style |
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Hold up - you can't take every 20 something back to the lab |
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just to jelly up her belly button |
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No thank you, my name is Sean |
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Here's a dollar for the jukebox - go play my song |
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[Chorus] {X2} |
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Cause this type of shit happens every day |
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We all go to heaven, even enemies may |
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You better stay in your place where the memories play |
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I'm just trying to live life cool - Morris Day |
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[Verse 2: Murs] |
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IOn the B L O C, laying low key |
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Hair gettin' braided whilst I'm talking to the homie |
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Old Gee, standing in the corner not talking |
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The little homie's sister wanna borrow my walkman |
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It's front yard politics, we talk a lot of shit |
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Who we wanna fight, broads that we're trying to hit |
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Kinda get bored so we bail to the store |
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Then we back, posted up for a few hours more |
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Now the homeboy cousin bring his ass down stairs |
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Tryin' to spark some convo, but don't nobody cares |
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Neither life or a square, I'm not even lookin' |
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No respect on the block cos he a mark n a hoodie |
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And I know this fool gonna say something sideways |
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The homeboy just start him out last Friday |
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Twenty years old, getting punked every Friday |
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Think that he hard cos he dips on the ?YA? |
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But my crew don't play, no time for discussion |
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Kept talkin' shit so my homeboy rushed him |
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Stomped him out in the grass 'til he had a concussion |
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Take ya ass in the house fool. don't say nuttin' |
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As he walked up the stairs heard him cry through the screen door |
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Sucker ass chump, what he tryin' to make a scene for |
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Know that he heard me cos the window was open |
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So I talked even louder and we kept on jokin' |
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[Chorus] {X4} |
