Lletres:
Fish Milk

nose, cold stare Tap shoes, Broadway Tuxedo, holiday Creative black, love song Stupid words, erased song Gun shots, orange house Dead man walking with a dirty mouth Spoiled milk

We're all waiting for you, let's go It's time to make a mountain out of a molehill So can I have a volunteer? There's no more time for crying over spilled milk

, yeah, into the blue Follow me, come on, you know me, yeah, into the blue I'll wake you up when the morning comes A decent cup of a coffee with milk

spray Happy wife-beater day, don't touch my, cheeba hay Get off my D-I, then go C the K's Excuse me Mr. D.J., please play "Fish" Or that "CherChez",

you heard the rumors I give tumors to niggas and comas to bitches No one's against us, roll with the riches And float with the fishes The revolution has

use your head for my nut rag Bitch what the fuck? Smells like a pile of dead fish in your butt Your shirts all covered with pins and fishing tackle And

type Maxin in the shade - I know your type Maxin in the shade - I know your type You can't even cook a hot dog or pour a glass of milk You'd rather

juice I ain't mad at you, cookies with some apple juice Milk, milk lemonade, round the corner fudge is made Cookies with some apple juice, I'm just tryna get paid Milk, milk

Another fish head in the dustbin Another loser in the queue for the soup kitchen Another reason for a visit We think you'd better come down Another nigger