We race foreign cars, custom models
Smashing glass pas' you fag and breaking bottles
Puttin in work, to much work,
They call me say, word
Mum and dad dintnt like it
Rack, rack city shit
Anti bacterial so the stereo is sterilized
Besides bumpin n grindin wasn't nothin on our mind
On trial for possession of some chronic
Treats mum like shit splattered on a brick
Call me whatever joe
Turn up you stereo
Bumping the stereo up, such melancholy, no affection,
I need something to hold fuck that passive aggression
See me as blasphemous for i don't need them
So slim davy please call up your mum
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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