RACECAR
Oh yeah, oh yeah
She said I hate my day job, I don't feel it
I need racecar, top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none (Have none), dollar billies (Have none)
(One time, oh, West Side)
She said I hate my day job, I don't feel it
I need racecar, top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none, have none, dollar billies in my bag
One— bag, one, fuck your feelings, I detach them
Wonder why I had them, with her bad lungs
Running back to 'em, keep coming back if I hadn't known
Aren't you tired of running—
Never understand why, probably just a habit
She run it 'til the cash come, wonder what happened
Busy on the inside, why ain't got the answer
Why ain't got hands, I don't got answer
You and your friends, wherever the bands tucked, then—
She said I hate my day job, I don't feel it
I need racecar, top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none, have none
Dollar billies in my bag, one— bag, one
Fuck your feelings
I de—
Pilot, I've gone high, parachute, this my first
If we land in quicksand, tell him too, I might die
Body-bagged, probably glad, had that price on my head
Took her hand in July, couple months, fall again
Hate my day job, I don't feel it
I need racecar, top down like my ceiling
I don't have none, have none
Yeah, yeah
She said I hate my day job, I don't feel it
I need racecar, top down to match my ceiling
I don't have none, have none, dollar billies in my bag
One— bag, one, fuck your feelings, I de—
Oh, West Side
Oh, West Side
Oh, West Side
