Sour Times Two lyrics

"Where the love go?!" sh*t. Where the bud go? I don't really roll, but I just rolled. Dying in laughter. A crying disaster, because I am who I'm after. Everybody discarded me (retardedly), then I find out I was wrong. So guard the beat. If there's still love in the air, "Can I put a little bud in the air?" Hug me for years. I'm sick and f*cking tired of tears. I pick up a tire and... here. As in, drive. As in, wind time. As in, "I've been winted..." I'm sorry. As in, "I've been winded in Wintertime." I forget. It's Winter's time. Then, I dine. And then (maybe), some chick who's REALLY f*ckING STUPID would wine (wind). To this sh*t

"We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it o-o-on!"
'Cause NOBODY LOVES ME
Except you
Who's me
So me
And you
Let's do
What it do!

I have fans. They put the candles out. So now, I am what I stand about. "Those" are my fans. And "those" are my friends. Frozen hands and frozen limbs, while I give myself a hug in a mental ward. No straightjacket, either. sh*t. That's dinner for ya! Lock(ed) myself up, like "Help us!" Then I get help from Chuck (my other side). But f*ck the other side, it's just us tonight. And I'ma ride, until I DIE. And I am obsessed with suicide, so "Why lie?" The sh*t isn't magick, so "Wahlah!" (The) Devil Wears Prada. And I like shopping at thrift stores. "MA?! n*ggAS WANNA GET ME FLY! Then they flew me out to London. Now... get me, while I die!"

"We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it o-o-on!"
'Cause NOBODY LOVES ME
Except you
Who's me
So me
And you
Let's do
What it do!
Can I get a hug? Because for Show and Tell, I f*cking brought in a little bug. I didn't. I'm lying. Cray. Or, UnCray. Just depends on how you play. I'm frying. And that "little bug" was my self-esteem. Passed it to all those b*tches who were helping me love me more. "I'm ugly, you whore!" "I'm lovely, you whore!" You see that click? Yo. You see that sh*t?! I ain't on no beeyatch sh*t, but I'm *scratching* like three rashes. And I'm not on some DJ sh*t, you beeyatches. All I know is I'm nice when I... spit. Mad syllables. And, I'm mad lyrical. Toss all them sh*t(s) out the air. Toss 'em out the room. I'M the one who's expecting DOOM from a womb...

"We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it o-o-on!"
'Cause NOBODY LOVES ME
Except you
Who's me
So me
And you
Let's do
What it do!