Salmon Orange (Or Maybe Peach?)

Uh!
All my life, felt cut off
Feel like every friend I had just run off
Or maybe I pushed 'em away
One too many times, and now they're lemon
Yeah, you got a sourpuss
Gloomy room, and you're giving me the cloudy look
But, uh, I don't really give a fuck!
Rain in my blood, Belfast Sam, c'mon!
I was really rooting for my better angels
But my demons found a angle and won in the runoff
Nat Pagle, I've been fishing for religion
Electoral college of my ego makes the real decisions
Tryna keep me from my real deliverance
Burt Reynolds, it's all pedal, and no friction
Smokey and the Bandit, plus Andrew Callaghan
And you can start to understand this dope feeling
Your girl is a Greta Garbagio
Invited me to a menage with a alleycat lothario
No thanks, I'm good on that, sorry though
If I would menage, I would rather two snotty hoes
Some Dom Pérignon - Korean chicken wings, a hotel room in Avignon
My MIDI is all -chlorian, very strong Force with him
Hear the trumpet call like clarion

Uh!
I get her drip like porpoise, then I carry on
Bump like Omarian, she put me in her Pantheon
Room went dark when she stood and put those panties on
That - there is golden, got me changing what I'm planning on
The sweater's salmon orange
Or maybe peach? Call it whatever the fuck you want
Yeah, I really couldn't care less what the fuck you're on
Yeah, I got the whole package, what the fuck you want?
Uh!

Yeah, I got the whole package, what the fuck you want?
Lately, I've been back to old habits, gotta cut it off
Hate me if you like, roll credits, gotta run along
Bitch
(Bitch! Yeah!)
(That's right, motherfucker!)



Credits
Writer(s): Samuel Kerr Jackson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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