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ALL HANDS ON DECK
Dominic Fike
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I want your germs
Sick is a word
Death is a state of mind like time
But I'm not, I'm real
At least I think
Dare I say
You know cash is king out west
And mattresses open up as often as bugs land on bums
Hands on, all hands on deck
We all dyin' out here
But I smile out here in the face of death
Funny how we all stuck but you can't connect
And everybody looks at you and breaks their neck
And you can't get rest
You can't even get arrested 'cause we all doin' it
"Hawk tuah", get famous
Hop to it, get sober, now do it, now do it motherfucker
Man, you got a son
You gotta get to it fast, man
You gotta run
You gotta come up with sum'
You better come up with sum'
Some type of fund, some type of trust
But don't nobody trust nobody, so what the fuck?
So try your hardest, you stale and starvin'
Dyin' artist
You mailman, hotel front desk, workin' that same job
Hopin' that same job pays off, but it don't make no difference
So make your livin', make your missus happy
Go down on her, don't fuck around on her
I did, you see how that worked
Can I get a "luya"?
Breathing
I wanna help with your breathing
I wanna inhabit your safe zone
Ahh-ah, leaving
I think we're better off leaving
I wanna travel ya'
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