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watsky - there and back again lyrics

[verse]
sometimes i think i’m too honest
but to be honest, i’m sick, i’m bubonic
but less black than the plague which is vague
’cause the black plague as a name’s kinda ironic
in that most black folks don’t actually k!ll entire populations
of european people, or move chronic
“who said they move chronic?”
were you away, cuz? ’cause if you ever smoked bud
you know tress make you cough like the plague does
“i hold my smoke in, toke up, lightweight yankee
you’d faint from a baby buzz”
f-ck you random english guy, take a long nap
this is my song, begone, move along, chap
“b-gg-r!” yeah, that’s right, walk away, b-tch
remember what my name is (watsky)
good, now that square dude is gone, we can party
let’s get some mardis gras beads, weed and bacardi
“the weed’s gone, that british n0bleman smoked our sh-t
and no one noticed it”
who cares, bro? i’ll party sober, i’m over it
i’m with my dogs yo, my dobermans
at in-n-out feeling dope and sh-t
it’s a local thing, i get the cheese fries
then go home for a boca burger and a mocha drink
i go to yogurtland, blowing smoke rings
and speeding in the fast lane, yodeling
road soda tucked in the lap of the kid riding shotgun
when the cops roll past motioning for us to pull over
and i don’t, i blow past a tollbooth
doing donuts on the shoulder, knowing i’m the sofa king
i won’t brag, but believe me, i know swag
i’m feeling so sav
my friends in the backseat follow our police chase live
on the plasma screen headrest tvs that i don’t have
they warn me about the spike strips
i swerve, and i fly through the ‘burbs, but then i hit the curb
and my tire pops; i flee on foot, but get tired, stop
and invite the the firefighters and the night-cops out to ihop
this is the life, homie, why knock it? i get high fives
when i pop the top off my beer bottle with my eye socket
i’ll be fine
i’m bleeding but the best beer-goggles is to be blind
“ahem. is this seat taken?” is that you, british fool?
i can’t see sh-t, but know there’s a seat vacant
“it’s me.” well sit down, dude, there’s mad room
we just got food, but there’s bound to be round two

- watsky lyrics

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