lirik lagu walkmaniac – not gonna miss
i am nót going to miss my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
check mé, i’m júst like steph cúrry
méntally tough, i shoot in flúrries
and i am nót going to miss my shót!
í’m ‘a study, wórk hard and gét to cóllege
maybé i’ll bé an architéct, if it’s wrécked or demólished
i’ll búild it bígger, like burj khalífa it’ll bé the tallest
pump my flów on up to hígh gear like an
enginéer with hydráulics
i’m nót a dáwdler, gót one spéed, my thróttle thrown to fúll
i’m nót on cruise control, í gót an edge — i eat my végetables
i’m bóut’ to turn éight, but my mínd is ólder
i’m táta-táught to domináte, i bówl over each bóulder
ev’ry óbstacle or cómplication fóstering stagnátion
got no tíme for hesitátion just púre dedicátion
rácin’, uppin’ the páce, my reputátion’s not for pátience
erásin’ all your flóccináuciníhilipificátions
i’m the—
a to the dóuble, t-i, c
u-s, if yóu dis-cóunted me
you’ll be flóunderin’ staring dumbfóundedly
as i’m rebóundin’ on the break and knocking dówn the three
doggedly stálk my quarry, got that blóodhound gene
handle the róck like curry, ground and póund like green
stray admónishments pród me mind the bóundaries
but got more rébar in my bódy than a fóundry
jóie de vívre: my prínc-p-l philósophy
please belíeve, ferocitée ain’t bellicócity
it’s possibúll that of contról i’ve got a páucity
but to achíeve, i can’t dimínish my velócity!
i am nót going to miss my shot
my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
my shót!
check mé, i’m júst like steph cúrry
méntally tough, i shoot in flúrries
and i am nót going to miss my shót!
nót going to miss my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
check mé, i’m clútch like steph cúrry
méntally tough, i shoot in flúrries
and i am nót going to miss my shót!
it’s time to take a shot!
new háven, seáttle, bucharést, utáh
oh, yéah, and chisináu, each hóme the bést so fár
nomád e’rywhére i gó by tráin or jét or cár, i
rúle the roost, i wéar the crown, lay dówn the law
i call the shóts!
éu, like fránk or joe hárdy
i máy look ordináry, but i’m kínd of a smárty
i’ll réad ya’nder the táble, dó math hígher than you’re áble
vorbésc chiar romána, ’til you néed a júmper cable
yuh bráin’ll be shót!
but i néver feel trúly frée, ‘less
i’m híkin’ on a móuntain, in a cányon, or thróugh the trées
bél esprit, i may be, but the wíld it cálls to me
cámping in-ténts-ily’s my prime propénsity
an óutdoor hot shót!
“bréathe ín,” i néed’a remémber to stáy calm
séethin doesn’t pay, i’m léarning that from my móm
aggréssive is okáy, but sportsmanshíp will wín the dáy
as walker’s pr-ne to say — it’s cliché, but that’s his wáy:
just give your best shot!
though you knów it’s éasy to sáy that
i’m not a brát, but neíther am i a díplomát
someday i’ll fígure out táct
till then, i’ll láy down the smáck
this gínger packs more vínegar thán you got néxt to your spíce rack
hut, snáp! just gotta reáct, backtráck, and báip-ss the sáck
like rúss, mountin a cómeback únflapped’s kínda my knáck
i’m tráinin’ my bráin in románian fast réading and cálculatin aríthmetic
now i’m stráinin past páin and obtáinin’ max spéed and anníhilatin’ ya wíth my kick!
oh’s that tóo pugnácious?
i can gét a little cócky, and óver-tenácious
i’m trying to kéep it in chéck and
not becóme too óstentátious
but i’m álways gonna strétch t’word the audácious!!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
check mé, i’m júst like steph cúrry
méntally tough, i shoot in flúrries
and i am nót going to miss my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
check mé, i’m clútch like steph cúrry
méntally tough, i shoot in flúrries
and i am nót going to miss my shót!
ev’rybody sing:
whoa, whoa, whoa
hey!
whoa!
whoo
whoa!
say, let ‘em hear ya!
yeah
let’s go!
whoa, whoa, whoa
i said shout it to the rooftops!
whoa!
said, to the rooftops!
whoa!
come on!
yeah
come on, let’s go!
ríse up!
when you’re ópen for the thrée, you ríse up
tell your táta that hé’s gotta ríse up
tell your máma that shé’s gotta ríse up
check at the tóp of the key and i’ll ríse up
when my tóes are at the thrée, i’ll ríse up
wrecked n’ féelin like i’m béat, i’ll ríse up
no, i’ll néver call retréat, i’ll ríse up
ríse up!
i savór my lífe just like a pépperoni pízza pie
the móment that it héats up níce
séize it, créase it ás you wíll, and táke a bíte
and éven if the crúst is underdóne or it’s a gréasy slice
gotta júst thank god abóve for spicy chéesed delights
it’s like a cámpfire glówing bríght
blazing hót against the bítter dark and cóld of níght
then you gó and fan the cóals, ash flíes, and you chóke
as billowing clouds of smóke blow directly up your nóse – sting ya éyes!
whóa now
don’t gó and, fór the smóke, curse the fíre
the pízza for the gréase or life for
fáiling to complái with your
préconcéptions, franken-stóries ’bout what yóu should get
no excéptions, that’s a récipe for díscontént
instéad, better be gráteful for the pósitives
whatéver the endéavor néver shún the fight or cáll it quits
plót twists take cóurage, gráce, and quíte a lotta práctice
úpshot is: gotta gírd your loins, don’t stútter, say: “i gót this!”
my mental pówer’s bóund to help me succéed in
excéedin’ expectátions, i’m appróaching light spéed
perturbátion’s recéding
a frisbee flying fast unféttered through the atmosphere
i’m not just spinning in place, i’m racing past my fear
i’m béast modin’, explódin’
unléashed, i’m réachin’ my péak, never bráke or platéauing
uncéasingly bréaking the móld and
emérgin’ súrgin’ past the páck, eyes on the príze and
for the wín, i’m sprínting t’ward a bríght horízon
ánd í ám nót going to miss my shót!
i am nót going to miss my shót!
check mé, i’m júst like steph cúrry
méntally tough, i shoot in flúrries
and i am nót going to miss my shót!
i’m gonna rise up! time to take a shot!
not going to miss my shot
i’m gonna rise up! time to take a shot!
not going to miss my shot
i’m gonna
rise up!
rise up!
it’s time to take a shot!
rise up!
rise up!
it’s time to take a shot!
rise up!
it’s time to take a shot!
rise up!
take a shot!
shot!
shot!
a-yo it’s
time to take a shot!
time to take a shot!
and i am —
not going to miss my—
not going to miss my shot!
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