Fuck The Facts

Me I’m a victim of a young girl’s suck
Feeling the emotions through my body ass butt
Everytime I see her in that god damned dress
Fell the stomach, busy stomach, that’s what I have to confess
Ah, that’s me ya what you see ya Telling 'bout my stomach and my feels ya Ah that’s me ya, watcha see ya Telling bout, telling bout me ya This is a thing that everybody knows about
Every boy and bitch so myself I mustn’t worry about
Easy to find, huh, hard to lose
So me myself and I, we got no chance to choose
I can’t tell ya what I feel ya This is a motherfucking problem that I hate ya I can’t tell ya what I feel ya I hate it but I take it but I try to surpress ya Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said fuck the facts
Fuck, said fuck, fuck, said fuck the facts
In addition to the point I was talking about
You must remember my name and all my habits and my attitude
So listen to the things that I’ve got to tell
My name is G on the B.A.S.S. B. G Hit the bass in the face seven days of the week ya Hanging 'round my posse that’s what everybody needs ya Me and my band, that’s what I stay for — stay for
Me and my band, that’s what I pray for — pray for
Music has a use for my personality
Cause if I’d loose it I wouldn’t stand it if you know what mean
My heart is hundred percent music that’s what I feel ya — feel ya I feel the drummers kick in my B.O.D.Y. so I try to combine my fucking emos to the bitch hit
Try to fight it with my music as hatred
I try to combine my fucking emos to the bitch hit
Try to combine it with my music as hatred
What about my girl, man?
What about my music, man?
Ina bona lita
I can’t stand that shit…