​voicemail lyrics
by William Crooks
[Verse]
Yeah, waitin’ in the mud for the train (f*ck)
I’m a hundred miles up, two hundred dollars down
Boogie man on a bike in a block full of clowns
(Ain’t it funny how not a damn thing changed)
Yeah, that should be me in that range
That should be me in that range
I got range
b*tch, I got range
b*tch I got a blade on the pulse and I’m drained
Take your life
Still searching for the answers (Whoa)
Waiting for the dancers to arrive
I should sit this one out
Cracks in the jewel case
Speaking in tongues, I walk with dogs
I cannot see the light, still
Cross me out, cross me out
Chateua with the fish bones
Dish pan with the guts in it
I drive a drop top limousine
You could park a motherf*cking bus in it
Ginger ale with the grenadine
Stretch the dough with some semolina