Left on Read (feat. Spencer Jones & Amance)

It's a war on drugs, what a special occasion
I wanna slow dance with Nancy Reagan
Professional American, rock flag, and eagle
She's pecking on my wood
Make Steven look Seagull
1989, such a great year for lovers
Posing up as a cool kid, stuck undercover
While the itty bitty titties wanna come to commit me
They're wanting my babies, cause my legs are crazy
Lancey Lancey, won't do a little dancey
While I tune you out, bunnies
"Erk"
In the backseat
Call your mama up, learn that homeschool shuffle
Pack your bags
Leave your shoes in my duffle
I sip Camus, doubting Thomas' is a stranger
Loathes my voice
Can't hear what I sing to her
"Now Deano
I just want to help you out
You could be the best
But you need the rest!"
Where's the cute one? Erin, Benson, or Sammi"
I guess pilot Jones will get me where I can be
Baby, baby
Let go of me
I've given up, and now I'm drinking for free
Baby, baby
You could be mine
Got to leave by Thursday
Emma's sweet, don't worry
Got to leave by Thursday
Help me get your pants off
Will the girls real wild put your hands up
Stick 'em up
Do the ja ja ja mephis flow go on stick em up
Will the girls real wild put your hands down low
Do the dimes you carry vibrate real slow?
Help me get your pants off
I wanna do some drugs
Wanna make an occasion
Wanna dirty dance wanna make it look pagan
spice it up, make it taste Cajun.
I got a ghost rider like I'm Nicolas Cage,
And if Rebecca ain't black, then Chris Pine is Asian
Huh?
Cause it's Friday (Damn)
The weeks where it should be
I guess I'll let Ice Cube melt in the backseat
And Chris Tuck a mother fucka
Rush another hour, Jackie's stuck undercover
So
Imma gonna bet on the odds
I will do drugs, I'll let them in
I'm gonna call up my dealer in my life
And I'm gonna lose
You can push me, you can press me
Call me up my friend
All I wanna do and hang, it's going down
It's about time that this begins
Check it out now
D
Damn right I'm gonna do drugs
A
I got this attitude
R e s p e c t myself
E
Well that goes without saying
Sometimes these songs just write themselves
Imma kick my feet up
And let Pilot Jones nail another landing
Baby, baby
Let go of me
I've given up, and now I'm drinking for free
Baby, baby
You could be mine
Got to leave by Thursday
Emma's sweet, don't worry
Got to leave by Thursday
Help me get your pants off