RACECAR

(альбом: WELCOME HOME - 2019)

Oh yeah, oh yeah
She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it
I need race car
Top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none (Have none)
Dollar billies (Have none)
(One time, oh West Side)

She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it
I need race car
Top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none, have none
Dollar billies in my bag, run— bag, run
Fuck your feelings
I detach them

Wonder why I had them
With her bad lungs
Running back to 'em
Keep coming back if I hadn't known
Aren't you tired of running—
Never understand why
Probably just a habit

She run it till the cash come
Wonder what happened
Busy on the inside
Why ain't got the answer
Why ain't got hands
I don't got answer
You and your friends
Wherever the bands tucked
Then—

She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it
I need race car
Top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none, have none
Dollar billies in my bag, run— bag, run
Fuck your feelings
I de—

Pilot, I've gone high
Parachute, this my first
If we land in quicksand
Tell him too, I might die
Body-bagged, probably glad
Had that price on my head
Took her hand in July
Couple months, Fall again

Hate my day job; I don't feel it
I need race car
Top down like my ceiling
I don't have none, have none
Yeah, yeah

She said I hate my day job; I don't feel it
I need race car
Top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none, have none
Dollar billies in my bag, run— bag, run
Fuck your feelings
I de—

Oh, West Side
Oh, West Side
Oh, West Side