Frankie Sinatra Songtext
von The Avalanches

Ah, Frankie Sinatra
Ah, Frank Sinatra
Frankie, me boy, don′t know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso
What did they say?

Ah, Frankie Sinatra
Ah, Frank Sinatra
Frankie, me boy, don't know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso
What did they say?

Ah, Frankie Sinatra
Ah, Frank Sinatra
Frankie, me boy, don′t know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso
What did they say?


Ah, Frankie Sinatra
Ah, Frank Sinatra
Frankie, me boy, don't know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso
What did they say?
Frankie, me boy, don't know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso

Off his rocker, he′s off his rocker
Please, Mr. Officer, I only had some vodka
Little marijuana, just a few Vicodin
Only reefer swervin′ over here while I'm driving
Where your registration, OG license?
′Cause of that interior, your bitch wanna ride it
Plate red, bold cat, dick got LoJack
White hoes callin' and they asking, "Where the dope at?"
What-whatever

Modern day Sammy, how I roll with that Sinatra
All for pasta, spray it in her mouth like Binaca
Listenin′ to salsa, rhythm of maracas
M.I.A., Anna Nicole, just sippin' in Sri Lanka
I divide and conquer, roll with Willy Wonka
Baby mama wanna suck the dong up at the concert
And they gets no pay
Like Frank Sinatra, bitch, I do this shit my way
Like Frank Sinatra, bitch, do this shit my way


Ah, Frankie Sinatra
Ah, Frank Sinatra
Frankie, me boy, don′t know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso
What did they say?

Ah, Frankie Sinatra
Ah, Frank Sinatra
Frankie, me boy, don't know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso
What did they say?
Frankie, me boy, don't know
You have the perfect voice to sing calypso

I′m so high, you′re so high
If I take another sniff, then I just might die
Take another sip, then I just might lie
Tell her what she wanna hear just to get between them thighs
Underground nigga, but on top of the world
Took the bitch for oyster, now my tongue on the pearl
So fuck what you say, do this shit my way
Like Frank Sinatra, bitch, did this shit my way

Tanks of vodka, sip slow rocka, ock
Writ rhymes since the days when Frankie Crocker rocked
From more stocky stock
Known for his illy right hook to make Rocky block
That's no poppycock, pirate
We can keep it irie, or we can keep it irate
Dilate, or keep it one hundred
From the heights of Northern Lights to Southern Comfort

One fifth, come with that headbanger boogie for that ass
Villain give a bully ten noogies for the cash
Or dash, dip slow on a marathon
Or maybe he gon′ sing calypso like Farrakhan
Or Frank Sinatra, mon