|
Running down the white line |
|
Drumming up a pastime |
|
Throwing a pink tirade |
|
Along came a spider |
|
And sat down beside her and said |
|
What you got to trade? |
|
My raison d'ette is bringing back summer |
|
As long as you can take the heat |
|
Well, it's gametime |
|
Bottom feeders and catholic cheaters |
|
Busting with feminine riches |
|
Who could resist that perfect kiss |
|
But I don't need to rip these stitches |
|
All her norths are going south |
|
Shame it isn't followed by her mouth' |
|
Cause it's gametime |
|
Running low on fallen angels to carry this weight |
|
Too much rhyme and not much reason |
|
And too much on my plate |
|
Raised from two in royal blue |
|
But we know that dog don't hunt |
|
Bleeding red in the corner from ol' |
|
Jack Horner |
|
The only thing to do is punt |
|
Nothing ventured is nothing spent |
|
But you can bend back far enough to pay the rent |
|
When it's gametime |
|
Walking through that fire |
|
Just to keep from getting cold |
|
The pitch is sharp and getting higher |
|
Hope my luck still holds |
|
Off the chain with both barrels pointed |
|
Channeling |
|
Jackie Brown |
|
Clean, anointed and double-jointed |
|
Arguing the whole way down |
|
Nobody here's seen nothing like it |
|
I believe they've got a point |
|
And it's gametime |
|
YeahAnd it's on, it's gametime |
|
Yeah, yeah |
