Pink Matter
And the peaches and the mangos that you could sell for me
What do you think my brain is made for?
Is it just a container for the mind?
This great, grey matter
Sensei replied, "What is your woman?
Is she just a container for the child?"
That soft, pink matter
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, oh
Close my eyes and fall into you, you, you
My God, she's giving me pleasure
What if the sky and the stars are for show?
And the aliens are watching live
From the purple matter?
Sensei went quiet, then violent
And we sparred until we both grew tired
Nothing mattered
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, ooh, ooh
Dim the lights and fall into you, you, you, ooh-ooh
My God, giving me pleasure, pleasure
Pleasure, pleasure
Pleasure over matter
Hey, hey
Since you been gone, I been havin' withdrawals
You were such a habit to call
I ain't myself at all, had to tell myself, "Naw
She better with some fella with a regular job"
I didn't wanna get her involved
By dinner, Mr. Benjamin was sittin' in awe
Hopped into my car, drove far
Far's too close and I remember my memory's no sharp
Butter knife, what a life, anyway
I'm building y'all a clock, stop, what am I, Hemingway?
She had the kind of body that would probably intimidate
Any of 'em that were un-southern, not me, cousin
If models are made for modelin', thick girls are made for cuddlin'
Switch worlds and we can huddle then
Who needs another friend? I need to hold your hand
You'd need no other man, we'd flee to other lands
(Grey matter)
(Blue used to be my favorite color)
(Now I ain't got no choice)
(Blue matter)
You're good at bein' bad, yeah
You're bad at bein' good, oh
For heaven's sakes, go to hell
Knock, knock on wood, hey
You're good at bein' bad (you're bad at bein' good)
You're bad at bein' good (for heaven's sakes, go to hell)
For heaven's sakes, go to hell (knock, knock, knock on wood)
Knock, knock, knock, knock on wood
Well, frankly, when that ocean so motherfuckin' good
Make her swab the motherfuckin' wood
Make her walk the motherfuckin' plank
Make her rob a motherfuckin' bank
With no mask on and a rusty revolver
What do you think my brain is made for?
Is it just a container for the mind?
This great, grey matter
Sensei replied, "What is your woman?
Is she just a container for the child?"
That soft, pink matter
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, oh
Close my eyes and fall into you, you, you
My God, she's giving me pleasure
What if the sky and the stars are for show?
And the aliens are watching live
From the purple matter?
Sensei went quiet, then violent
And we sparred until we both grew tired
Nothing mattered
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, ooh, ooh
Dim the lights and fall into you, you, you, ooh-ooh
My God, giving me pleasure, pleasure
Pleasure, pleasure
Pleasure over matter
Hey, hey
Since you been gone, I been havin' withdrawals
You were such a habit to call
I ain't myself at all, had to tell myself, "Naw
She better with some fella with a regular job"
I didn't wanna get her involved
By dinner, Mr. Benjamin was sittin' in awe
Hopped into my car, drove far
Far's too close and I remember my memory's no sharp
Butter knife, what a life, anyway
I'm building y'all a clock, stop, what am I, Hemingway?
She had the kind of body that would probably intimidate
Any of 'em that were un-southern, not me, cousin
If models are made for modelin', thick girls are made for cuddlin'
Switch worlds and we can huddle then
Who needs another friend? I need to hold your hand
You'd need no other man, we'd flee to other lands
(Grey matter)
(Blue used to be my favorite color)
(Now I ain't got no choice)
(Blue matter)
You're good at bein' bad, yeah
You're bad at bein' good, oh
For heaven's sakes, go to hell
Knock, knock on wood, hey
You're good at bein' bad (you're bad at bein' good)
You're bad at bein' good (for heaven's sakes, go to hell)
For heaven's sakes, go to hell (knock, knock, knock on wood)
Knock, knock, knock, knock on wood
Well, frankly, when that ocean so motherfuckin' good
Make her swab the motherfuckin' wood
Make her walk the motherfuckin' plank
Make her rob a motherfuckin' bank
With no mask on and a rusty revolver
Credits
Writer(s): Andre Benjamin, Christopher Breaux, James Ryan Wuihun Ho
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.