got time for lovin' Louis Vuitton, her husband She'd rather die in Los Angeles She'd rather die in the club till she leave Six feet under, she gon' get the fuckin' paper You know how she get down, bop
Seventy-six trombones led the big parade. With a hundred and ten cornets close at hand. They were followed by rows and rows of the finest virtuo-. Sos, the cream of ev'ry famous band. Seventy-six
, no roll of cash, just BYOB. Woah oh oh, chillin' on a back porch. Little hottie swingin' up in the swings. Them good ol' boys pickin' six strings. Woah oh oh, leave your trouble at the door. No cover
away. Everything just changed. Six degrees apart. Without a place to start Im putting on a brave face, even though Im falling apart. Im putting on a brave face, its not a lot but at least its a start