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• Artiste: Dominic Fike
• Titre: All Hands On Deck
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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 dying 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 doing the 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 something 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 starving dying artist You mailman hotel front desk, working that same job Hoping that same job pays off, but it don't make no difference So make your living, make your missus happy Go down on her, don't fuck around on her I did, you see how that worked Could I get a luya? Breathing I wanna help without breathing I wanna inhabit your safe zone Ah, leaving I think we're better off leaving I wanna travel ya Ooh Ooh