I Walked In (OST из "Не могу дождаться / Can't Hardly Wait")

Текст песни Brougham - I Walked In (OST из "Не могу дождаться / Can't Hardly Wait")

I Walked In Lyrics[Hook]
Now the party didn't start until I walked in
And I probably won't leave before the thing ends
But in the mean time, the in-between time
You go for yours, I'll go for mine

[Verse 1: Luke Sick]
Now I don't mind you ignoring me no more
Like a fully clothed ho at the peep show
Eyes on squint, I call it Chinese tint
It ain't about a bitch, my life is a synch
Your boy Luke Sick is half retarded
Other half smart enough to know it don't matter
Care less bout face when that acts like worm cake
Head that's longer than five minutes to lunch break
Highs to a hurdler, fly milk curdler
Cry, but we're selling fake seats at the Phish concert
I'm in the kitchen cupcake filling
Sucker MC battling
Got his girl giggling
I jelly bean crushed him
He got embarrassed, stole her see-through shoes
And jacked the pumpkin carriage
Now it's ten to twelve and she ain't got time
I said, "Ten minutes baby, cool, I only need nine."
It was push with shove in the bush with a glove
It was soak and snug, then the jig was up
The spell wore off, so I had to diss her
Made an amateur flick with the evil step-sisters
[Hook]

[Verse 2: Luke Sick]
Party to party, I manage
Cause I travel with no baggage
Unless you count her naggin'
In that case I'm draggin'
Otherwise, I strive to be forever wise
Lies I stay deaf to, but my eyes hear the silent cries
Deranged plane to take our plank on poets
Those who double over moaning
Pain is appropriate
No longer wait for the faith to make me know
Started off drunk, them hoes ended up sad, alone
Little did you realize, I don't want to get hired
Tired, out of touch
Use my couch as a crutch, much
Mini-mall is murder gripe truck stop lifestyle
Pile on projects of apocalyptic reasons
Ain't it splended?
Your whole life seems pretended
The world feels large when you're raised by the television
A tiskit a tasket, a condom of a casket
Drastic measures taking all the pleasure that I'm fakin'
Naked, rich skanks though, bouncing my bank notes
Blatantly gross chapped lips and cancker sores
Pails, pots and pans and a bottle on the kitchen floor
Hand the wooden spoon to the toddler and press record
[Hook]

[Verse 3: Luke Sick]
A poem's just a poem
A record's just a record
A kiss is just a kiss
When your sex is misdirected
We're so far from love and so close to Hell
Thought you couldn't catch up
But you were chasing your tail
I try to freshen it up
But it's old and stale
I teach a lesson in love
When you're born to fail
On my knees, scavenger
Unsacked passager
Unplug your life support
And disconnect your catheter
I know you wear Depends undergarments
It's not pretend, your girl's vibing on it
At the champagne brunch
French toast, eggs benedict
I got your beggar, top-shelf margaritas
I'll feed ya pinballs til your windpipe's gone
Get your fingers out my catalog
Cause your style's sour egg nog
Please cease perusing my inventory
Before your crew's singing blues in the mortuary
I leave thoughts on the window
Like John Davis getting justice
To the butt-naked burrow chick I sip suds with
Sniff closer, her whole kit is so buff to me
Informercials for my lyrical cutlery
[Hook]