paroles de chanson Goon Bags - Foreign Beggars
Friday
night,
street's
packed
Headed
out,
no
plans
to
reach
back
Thoughts
of
a
tongue
tied,
meet
with
yads
Hold
up
to
the
sunrise,
breach
the
flat
Call
the
man,
I'm
like
"Where
you
at?"
Cross
the
tracks,
we
ain't
afraid
of
that
We
are
spraying
tags,
we
done
drained
the
yat
Got
a
bus
cause
a
man
found
gates
to
crash
We
green
light,
wave
flag
Out
of
the
flash
like
we
race
drag
Blow
thick
smoke
out
a
chain
of
fags
Can
be
sipping
on
shots
till
I
faint
and
gag
I'mma
raid
the
bar
when
she
serving
them
Pass
out
the
bottle,
can
we
merk
the
ten?
Heads
swimming
hard
in
a
swirl
of
Gin
Wake
up
in
a
daze
that
can
work
again
Goon
bags,
loose
yads
Run
up
in
your
flats
with
your
goose
flats
That
new
crack,
just
swagger
Crewboard
looking
like
lil'
blaggers
Flipped
on
the
fifth
of
those
gold
manors
Name
ain't
written
in
no
books
We
ain't
leaving
till
hoes
bladdered
Wise
living,
loose
world
Lifestyle
brimming
with
loose
girls
Live
women,
choose
swerve
Mans
all
peeking
on
two
thirds
G
dubs
speaking
like
hillbillies
Still
illy,
fuck
father
Your
bitch
calling
me
godfather
(We
bring
goon
bags,
brother
we
gon'
do
blags
Got
that
true
swag,
everything
with
new
tags)
This
be
that,
new
shit
Old
dog
flipping
new
tricks
Out
here
living
like
two
hicks
Chicks
all
skinny
like
toothpicks
Camera's
on,
it
don't
prove
shit
Crack
it
on
and
you'll
choose
dick
Dash
it
on
and
you'll
move
with
Tag
along
and
you'll
get
used
quick
Tag
along
and
get
moved
on
Move
along
and
get
moved
to
I
ain't
out
here
trying
to
make
a
friend
So
say
your
piece
so
I'mma
school
through
New
school?
Fuck
a
plan
I'mma
move
on
so
fuck
a
fight
Man
like
us
stay
out
of
sight,
out
of
mind
Plus,
I'm
out
tonight
Hangover,
hurt
like
my
head's
crushed
by
a
Land
Rover
So
I
go
for
the
boot
till
a
man
sober
I'm
in
the
zone,
I
sip
petroleum,
I
hit
the
drone
Smoke
spliffs
alone,
won't
shift
In
a
paranoid
fit
at
home,
lets
stick
the
phone
They
call
in
the
blonde,
fix
my
tone
I
might
drift
the
void
till
my
liver's
blown
My
kidneys
shunk
and
my
heart's
a
mess
Five
parts
the
tar,
five
parts
the
stress
Surf
the
fine
line,
patrol
the
edge
Scrape
the
foot
of
my
sofa
dreads
I
hit
rock
bottom
and
give
to
death
Chain
smoking
rest
there's
nothing
left
Till
I
fuck
my
breath,
turn
tucks
for
death
Six
feet
deep,
laid
to
rest
(We
bring
goon
bags,
brother
we
gon'
do
blags
Got
that
true
swag,
everything
with
new
tags)
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