Goon Bags - Foreign Beggars, Blue Daisy

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

Bellboy, no looks

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

Three Q’s, one milli

G dubs speaking like hillbillies

Still illy, fuck father

Your bitch calling me godfather

Put it, in a

Bag, zip it

Shut it, get that

Paper, moving

(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)