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• Artiste: Classic Tribe
• Titre: Little Boots
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She cared sickle-cell hair dress anemic fucking mess trance-dance that cake right off the shelf: apply Do or die, cum bucket: self-prescribed Oh you're runnin' it Oh you're struttin' it Oh you're makin' a scene Oh please, scatter me in several seeds dripping down, down, down Oh no ms. dirty sheets, no rings allowed Afraid of the great white lightning Two young boys come to the dumpster sipping a satchel of sin Watching those red horizons on momma's face; peeling skin Who'll save the queen from the duchess? It's only a matter of time. Retire: you golden prized fighter, and get up the next in line. White sense dressed up in incest the cardinal's so depressed Saddle up, pants off: here comes the lovely prize Do or die, cum-bucket: self-prescribed Oh you're runnin' it Oh you're struttin' it Oh you're makin' a scene