Wild Flowers

Oh, fuck this deadline, rules and regulations and
Fuck all this smartphone, machines, and
Fuck this company fiction, gas car, fame, and Indriver, and
Fuck Pinger with the rhyme, filthy breath, and
Fuck this chick, Corona, my neck with stupid bead at every inch
Fuck it all motherfucker
I'm going straight to the hot-spot, yap

(Hot-spot)

And fuck all these brown envelopes that slide underneath my door, and I
Fuck this goddamn things in my head, and I
Fuck that guy at the gym who won't stop looking at me when I piss

(Hot-spot)
(What the fuck are you talking about?)

And fuck the kids on the side walk that laugh at me when I fall over, and I
Fuck that old lady that give me that fucking stinker, amen
Fuck that little stupid dog with the furry color, amen
Fuck it all motherfucker
I'm going straight to the hot-spot, whoa

Just calm down, settle down
It's okay, do your thing

It's okay, we all be married
Do your thing man, it's okay

Bend the rule Bob, break 'em all
Just do your thing man, have the ball, ha-ha-ha-ah

Ah, ouch, more
One more fucking time, ooh
I am the manager, that's right
Today is my day
So, why don't you pick up your change
Walk out that door
Shut the door at your ass
Okay

How about you fuck your own uncle
With your mother's dick?
You ride and sing that you, mm
How about you roll down that hill real fast?
How about you, oh, jumping on that big ol' slum sharp?
Three things insult my ass, okay
Let's go, hold me up for it Joe, wooh

(Hot-spot)
(Hot-spot)
(Hot-spot)

My back



Credits
Writer(s): Quinn Whalley, Craig Louis Higgins Jr., Benjamin Romans Hopcraft, Adam John Harmer, Marley Mackey
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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