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Текст (слова) песни: Buck 65 - Sunday Driver



I walk the earth quietly,
by day carry a net.
With no strings attached,
to a magic marionette.

See there`s so little time left
and yet there`s so much space.
Thinking why don`t you give me a call later on
so we can touch base.

I swim across the seven seas,
and follow the sounds of handclaps.
And just try to keep my balls
out of the sand traps.

Because before I go on live,
all my enemies try to contrive
plots to make my whole entire
routine take a swan dive.

But this ain`t commercialized
hip hop or indie pop.
Nah, this ain`t the mashed potato.
Uh-Uh,this ain`t the windy hop.

The dance that goes with this
is called the keep perfectly still.
Before your brain becomes burnt out,
like cheap circuitry will.

Lately I`ve been spending almost
all my nights with my hands full.
Between writing my rhymes
and my fights with the Man-Wolf.

I`m building a better mousetrap
and plus a wider fence.
Because I trust my instincts
and follow my spider-sense.

 

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