lirik lagu bob saget - my daughters
[vince staples]
just woke up another day another dollar that i ain’t make
another search for that one soul i can’t hate
can’t think of a wrong turn i ain’t take
or think of a past b-tch i ain’t rape
or at least think about it
because if you talk about it got to be about it
at least that’s what they used to tell me when i dreamed about it
self-suppression and hate where would i be without it
seems to be the only reason i can script
this sh-t, but f-ck it i live this sh-t
so why not speak about h-ll, seems i know it so well
they say you make the happy endings to the stories you tell
and that’s bullsh-t, so if i get a range then maybe i’ll get a b-tch
put hickeys over her neck instead of slitting her sh-t
join a local church stock bibles at the crib
have a daughter and support her at ballet recital gigs
bar-b-ques with neighbors and a belly full of beer
9 to 5 every morning mad cause i never lived
n-gga f-ck that, cause i would rather be
the n-gga with the whole world mad at me
than the f-ggot i’m not
[hook]
why the f-ck you talking to me like i ain’t got guap (you don’t)
why you acting like my tape won’t knock (it won’t)
well f-ck you and i hope you rot (croak)
whatever, whatever, whatever
why the f-ck you talking to me like i ain’t got guap (you don’t)
why you acting like my tape won’t knock (it won’t)
well f-ck you and i hope you rot (well, you’re an -ssh0l-)
whatever, whatever, whatever
[speak]
here’s another rap from your favorite hipster f-ggot
the unfunny c-nt young rap bob saget
who keeps a full house full of b-tches like the olsen twins
and lets them heroin binge until they’re flying of the hinge
i’m a sleaze bag baby that’s a known fact
got a fetish for them black girls that make their -ss clap
but they don’t f-ck with me my d-ck is extra medium
so i sit home alone higher than some helium
no one was feeling him until i threw a curve ball
a couple sticks of dynamite stuffed inside a nerf ball
how you making hits swinging with a wiffle bat
how the f-ck you getting high puffing simple nickel sacks
nickelback, fickle rap, i’m bringing tommy pickles back
b-tch f-ck your kids tuck them in i think they need a little nap
i’m in your kitchen now puffin on a cigarette
you can toss my salad but don’t forget the vinaigrette
i’m balsamic with islamic fundamentalist
a real motherf-cker catching wrecks like oedipus
better warn you relatives when i’m on the rampage
in a drunken half daze and i ain’t touch a d-mn stage
but once i’m there i might come up live
and if her legs are opened up i might c-m inside
p-ssy fat like a welcome mat yelling speaky welcome back
leave it worn and leave it torn until i’ve had enough of that
[hook]
why the f-ck you talking to me like i ain’t got guap (you don’t)
why you acting like my tape won’t knock (it won’t)
well f-ck you and i hope you rot (croak)
whatever, whatever, whatever
why the f-ck you talking to me like i ain’t got guap (you don’t)
why you acting like my tape won’t knock (it won’t)
well f-ck you and i hope you rot (well, you’re an -ssh0l-)
whatever, whatever, whatever
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