lirik lagu wayne collins – spiel
[intro: steven spielberg]
so the first thing i thought was establishing myself
and the second i thought was bring a audience in
to see if what i was making was having an effect
on anybody other than myself
[verse 1]
the writer and producer with sense like lincoln
thinkin and blaze the bush til’ my pen get the sinkin’
going menstrual on the pad watch the plot thicken
like the grease in the oven rotisserie left drippin’
thoughts astral still in my physical plane though
encounters of any kind ain’t talking ufo
i’m flammable like 151 through yo threshold
the molotov flow a combustible c-cktail
i rock crews got em goin from rap to gospel
seeing so many p-ssies you think its a brothel
i’m hostile probably laying low in m-rs-illes
i’m mad real collins keep the work on reels
like film clips that spin so f-ck how you feel
dizzy like gillispie cause you live for what i spill
ride around my town, abandon house, field
feeling like danny brown on them triple x pills
ice cubes in my drank a blunt of vin diesel
thoughts so large i think i might need a easel
i don’t do heroin so just keep your needle
for the record that spins, or what your samplin’
spiel
[hook]
my thoughts react like steven spielberg
steven spielberg
my thoughts react like steven spielberg
spiel
spiel
spiel
my thoughts react like steven spielberg
[verse 2]
adderall and tall calls of the brew
making moves for the jane like tarzan
on my six theres some knockers in minivan
hit the right at the light don’t look back
trying to stash bottles but a n-gga lost the cap
sitting shotgun so i’m doming on that
heading to a party be there in 10 minutes flat
girls in lingerie, herbs sacs and 30 packs
getting full off a half of a 12 pack
dlts, from the bell please
need a little coating on the stomach for the alc
cause it helps i don’t earl on this sweatshirt
then my future going be looking odd
cause i hear she smart, got a good -ss job
first share logic on my lower part
don’t like my girls dunce, pick with prudence
that kitty bald, i carpet munch like its lunch
long pipe, til them lame skaters take a hike
g-shocks days and them black breda nights
macy grey afternoons, d-ck wolf evenings
the order is law, guess im feeling quite bourgeois
then again, honda is the car pushing me far
backpackin with tapes, the trunk’s full of eights
the console holds a eighth the sirens fades away
spiel
[hook]
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