311 - Salsa lyrics

We were born in the seventies The rippin' and rhyming and brethren, see We're filling, taste great In the old school, I was eight For the new school, I was late But in high school, I was debate I rate in the great state of California I'm warning ya Je vais a la plage parce que le guignol est chouette! I kick nonsense in French, tasty like Crepe Suzette I bet you're feeling famished for a 311 sandwich Not the whack DJ's that I'm a damage I like a beat that's unique and, yes, I like my head zooming And in my Continental, you know that sh**'s booming With the diamond in the back, suicide doors You can look from here to eternity And never receive your morsel Another tale of ordinary madness: The girl who gave you her s** I heard was homeless, say All I really want to is to feel nirvana Won't you take me tonight and we just might find A bottle of wine and feel our nasty nature Your tongue lickin' up my tongue Your radio pickin' up a smoky, jazz love song Madness becomes you even though you're Livin' life, it's hard to exist when you're tempted By flesh, you want to bust through Beautiful legs in the bar, there is poetry She bends and suspends and her a** Is a marvelous thing A dance dancin' at a club the Hereafter Who can't really dance but that doesn't really matter And she won't hear applause 'cause your drunk and lost All light is gone Your arms spread like a cross And you're dreaming that the world Will soon fall apart Topless girl in your gaze which is hazy Takes your dollar in the gutter without cigarettes Or wine you're hung over I was warned of your normal Behavior and felt my life was too short to Consider your whack self It's like this when you dip down And you are boxin' Reeling against the ropes and you Face some young Mexican You're scrappin' your neck gets Snapped back, your nose have bled You're thinkin' about a comeback But you're takin' it to the head You little ba*tard, better watch your back 'Cause we're after your punk a** By God, we're gonna jack it Your journey is small time, and your show is over You're 'bout as lucky as a three leaf clover And you're older, ho bag sceezer in her droopy, saggy skin Who thought she was a model, but, in truth, a never-has-been You both are fools, you and your cheap rooms, too The cigar biting your lips the way love used to