Friday Zen
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I used to wear dress blues, I used to gettin' my cues from the dudes in D.C. with the wing tip shoes. My boss said it was Paris or Prison, and the judge said: "son you better make a decision." I chose the former 'cause I heard it was warmer, April in Paris, hell south of the border. They put me together, tougher than leather. Set me on your ass 'cause they didn't know better. Getting it on to the grave spot, getting it on, getting it on, getting it on... Now, I hold the fort left, right, and center, the number running hardass punk, flygirl bender. Now, check the photo finish I'm in this to satisfy parole, not posing not playin' a role. See I got more gumbas than Bobby De Niro and if I was you I'd act like Nixon and Spiro. So drink your rock and smoke your pot and chill where it's shady, I got more endurance than In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida baby. Getting it on to the grave spot, getting it on, getting it on, getting it on... I'm up to no good, with no place to go but down... Getting it on to the grave spot, getting it on, getting it on, getting it on... We're up to no good, with no place to go but down... |
