Oprah - Rob Sonic

Now you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

Tickets for the gun show, late for the fight

Get in with the cutthroat, make with the nice

Take in the sights as you aim at the floor

Sleep with one eye open and away from the door

Now that you’ve curved third finger on the bell

Death out of oil and some poisons to sell

Boil down his tears from the years that he spent

Hearing ghosts and the omens slowly cheers-ing his death

The clock major dollar holler bad girl party hat

Dante nirvana’s on a flat world army tat

with the starter coat

Hunter down the the starburst into artichoke

funky bunch, glass eye, fish food

Domicile, Gomer Pyle, Joker smile, chip tooth

Rip roof, drop top, foxy brown, locker meat

pay the man or Abraham’s

Tried to find a better way, but now I just don’t give a fuck

Inside I’m dead as zen and outside I’m the villain’s dunce

Filling up his tank, got the blankets in the Jennifer

on his roof top, and the anglers for the wrestlers

Messengers bloodied up, guppy hunt, carol fish

Money tree, fire fox, China shop, Marilyn

Derelict, satellite schools for the wasted youth

Fibers turn to tigers and incisors into sabertooths

Now you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

Teacher once told him that the camels and graft

Wasn’t much different from the handful’s of crack

In the sandals and sash from his pumas and skips

In the waitress from the famous but a few months of tips

Momma once told him there’d be days where he wishes he

Hadn’t left the bed or took his breakfast to Tiffany

wins it all, but always holds the butter wrong

And in between the 9 to 5 he idolize the somersault

Rounded up from nothing and got overdrawn

Peppercorn bop like he spastic or its live action Techeun Force

Begging for his space, but got issues when he separate

Money from the love and the gators from the Everglades

Never make dough off the music that he started on

But everything that he read is some pretty shit, Barbara Zon

daily to prevailing get it ruined by

Rappers that say they don’t rapping Cadillac’s with suicide

Doors on the low ride, home fry, rough him up

Olly olly oxygen

It is dark, hell is warm, also where the children go

To practice how to catfish on the graphics with the silicone

Million ways for you to choose whichever way you wanna go

More racks on the door cracks or a Rorschach with a rubber hose

Summer clothes, packed up, safe keep, snorkel time

From where we keep creating it and basing with them porcupines

Now you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car

And you get a car