lirik lagu avantdale bowling club & dusty & ghos - goldtops
[intro]
“you don’t hold me anymore
is someone knocking on my door?”
yeah
[chorus]
these memories are all i got
so i gotta jot ’em down ‘fore they rot, most of them got forgot
with the trees that i chopped, then smoke with no [?]
secret rooftop spots above abandoned parking lots
tinny shops where i knocked nine o’clock on the dot
cloudy days, rollin’ darts big as all black props
on old stovetops, hit the hotbox [?]
pickin’ gold tops stashed in my gold tops socks
[verse 1]
do you recall? we musta been about fifth form
skunky indoor, didn’t know what i was in for
with some sh~t that my little bro’s big sis scored
glowin’ like gold when he wrapped it out the tinfoil
i hit the spliff, then the split hit like a brick wall
high as sh~t, trippin’ b~lls, tryna walk through lynnmall
just some sh~tty little kids, what we had to live for?
sh~t all, p~ss poor, walkin’ to the p~ss store
do you remember, blastin’ all that last emperor?
round the time t~pain met the bartender?
the scent of mary leakin’ out my nissan sentra
in the car park of the work and income centre
burnin’ pain into ember to calm the temper
experimenter, on a bender that i can’t remember
doin’ dirt for some legal tender, repeat offender
‘fore they ever legalised this sh~t in denver
i was doin’ spots with my stepdad, can’t forget that
f~ck the blunts, we were smokin’ lungs out the bread bag
if my mum catch me, i’m a dead man, better get back
she askin’ me “where the rent at?” already spent that
i used to get it from the tinny shop that the heads ran
that was a caravan that had the red flag, now it’s a meth lab
everyday, me and [?], like meth and redman
wake and bake, make a bong out the lion red can
pop a rushie, coughin’ up a lung, off a bucky
proper skunky, feelin’ like i dropped a mushie
in the sleepout, hot and stuffy
only left when we got the munchies, hit the shop to cop a crunchie
grungy, runty, proper junkies
taxin’ buds out my mum’s stash while she watchin’ rugby
these days i’m lightweight though, my lungs gotten rusty
and i can’t remember sh~t, my memory gotten fuzzy
so, uh
[chorus]
these memories are all i got
i gotta jot ’em down ‘fore they rot, most of them got forgot
with trees that i chopped, then smoke with no [?]
secret rooftop spots above abandoned parking lots
tinny shops where i knocked nine o’clock on the dot
cloudy days, rollin’ darts big as all black props
on old stovetops, hit the hotbox [?]
pickin’ gold tops stashed in my gold tops socks, what
[outro]
yeah, bruv
smoked too much sh~t to even remember any of the days
the bros tellin’ me stories, i’m like
“ayy, is that—was that us?
did we do that?
that’s… yeah”
don’t do drugs
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