Goon Bags Songtext
von Foreign Beggars

Friday night, street′s packed
Headed out, no plans to reach back
Thoughts of a tongue tied, meet with yads
Hold up to the sunrise, breach the flat
Call the man, I'm like "Where you at?"
Cross the tracks, we ain′t afraid of that
We are spraying tags, we done drained the yat
Got a bus cause a man found gates to crash
We green light, wave flag
Out of the flash like we race drag
Blow thick smoke out a chain of fags
Can be sipping on shots till I faint and gag
I'mma raid the bar when she serving them
Pass out the bottle, can we merk the ten?
Heads swimming hard in a swirl of Gin
Wake up in a daze that can work again
Goon bags, loose yads
Run up in your flats with your goose flats
That new crack, just swagger
Crewboard looking like lil' blaggers


Flipped on the fifth of those gold manors
Name ain′t written in no books
We ain′t leaving till hoes bladdered
Wise living, loose world
Lifestyle brimming with loose girls
Live women, choose swerve
Mans all peeking on two thirds
G dubs speaking like hillbillies
Still illy, fuck father
Your bitch calling me godfather
(We bring goon bags, brother we gon' do blags
Got that true swag, everything with new tags)
This be that, new shit
Old dog flipping new tricks
Out here living like two hicks
Chicks all skinny like toothpicks
Camera′s on, it don't prove shit
Crack it on and you′ll choose dick
Dash it on and you'll move with
Tag along and you′ll get used quick
Tag along and get moved on
Move along and get moved to
I ain't out here trying to make a friend
So say your piece so I'mma school through
New school? Fuck a plan
I′mma move on so fuck a fight
Man like us stay out of sight, out of mind
Plus, I′m out tonight
Hangover, hurt like my head's crushed by a Land Rover
So I go for the boot till a man sober
I′m in the zone, I sip petroleum, I hit the drone
Smoke spliffs alone, won't shift
In a paranoid fit at home, lets stick the phone
They call in the blonde, fix my tone
I might drift the void till my liver′s blown
My kidneys shunk and my heart's a mess
Five parts the tar, five parts the stress
Surf the fine line, patrol the edge
Scrape the foot of my sofa dreads
I hit rock bottom and give to death
Chain smoking rest there′s nothing left
Till I fuck my breath, turn tucks for death
Six feet deep, laid to rest
(We bring goon bags, brother we gon' do blags
Got that true swag, everything with new tags)