lirik lagu travis barker - funky shit
funky sh-t
(with yelawolf)
[intro: x4]
sitting in the back (oh my god)
s-sitting the back (fff-funky sh-t)
[verse 1:]
peanut jelly box, sitting in the carport
808 crack, and i’m open like a barndoor
beer bottle cap, put ’em in the floor
set ’em in the floor, what a metaphor is this?
kind of like ill beat with travis
eat it up, beat it up [?] atlas
where should i go? put ’em in a cereal bowl
in alabama, then i holler out “cheerio”
look at that sh-t, pull her on back like elastic
and let it go like a mac [?]
s-sipping on the green bottle, like i’m saint patrick
got beans in the mattress, magic
make you want to jump on a fat b-tch
ooo got to have it
(boss) send the wolf, pick a thing
on a pekingese b-tch, go go gadget
(owh) i’m all the way from the gutter
flick a cigarette b-tt from a chevrolet pickup
geeked up on 7 up
gotta turn the beat up while i run up on it like a cheetah
[?] well, that’d be the day
put you up sh-t creek
paddle be away, hat to the side
holler at you homie
what’s the matter with you babe?
[hook:]
sitting in the back with the b-ss on boom
trunk gon shake, and the wheels on zoom
american cl-ssic, trashy tunes
la to alabama, from noon to noon
they saying, (oh my god, that’s some funky sh-t)
(oh my god, that’s some funky sh-t)
(oh my god, that’s some funky sh-t)
oh my god, that’s some funky sh-t
[verse 2:]
and i’m a beastie boy
airwalks and a bowl cut
skater when a skater wasn’t cool
when it was just, “so what? f-ck you dude”
well f-ck you too
[?] with a backpack
i’ll bust your fruit
i’m all about constructing my paper
kind of like a pocket full of elmer’s glue
squeeze the bottle, turn the milk
churn the b-tter, get the cheese tomorrow
i got a lock on my profit
no exits, no keys tomorrow
but i got st–ze to borrow
some famous kicks to match
if i got a b-ss line, i’ll rap
as long as tb got sticks to crack
so hit a drumroll, i’ll jump in like a jump rope
watch
acapella like an elevator, operate the fader while i operate a label then i’m in my f-ckin’ high tops
rhythm like a clock, i’m scotch
you would’ve thought, it was written
but it’s not
rag hanging out the back of them jeans
not a g-ngb-nger but a cracker who sings
and momma don’t you worry about a single thing
really though, cause daddy brought charcoal, and gasoline
and we cooking up tonight, t-bones, pinto beans
[hook]
[verse 3:]
yeah, why stop now?
put ’em in the trunk
let ’em feel the sound
that they don’t pop it
let ’em feel the rhyme till he finds the locket
808 weighs a ton, so drop it
watch your feet, while i rock the beat
going all out, no private seat
i don’t walk if i can ride the beat
but wouldn’t you though? don’t lie to me
of course you would, catapult syllables
got up on my horse in the woods, whoa
magical, sorcerer goods
steal from the rich put more in the hood
natural, born with a wood
f-ck ’em all, i’m right above ’em all
but you could b-tt talk, if a [?] fall
out with a motherf-cker with a sluggish crawl
chug till i can’t chug at all
not a frat boy, i’m a rap boy
in hollywood, like aykroyd
but i read my script with a southern drawl
i run home when mother calls
cause mother’s got a switch
yeah, she’s a wolf too
that makes me a son of a b-tch
[hook]
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