got the moves (oh whey oh) You drop your drink then they bring you more All the school kids so sick of books They like the punk and the metal band When
them holding hands and you still think they're friends So sick of these bands that demand respect You can count on one hand all the fans they get So who's the band
Hip hop is like what you call a bastard child of A lot of different forms of music I just feel good, that a lot of our bands are like Are like, recognizing
shout And love every minute we can Let's do the night shift, baby I'm ready to dance Hey, let's go down to Coyote's lounge I hear they got a pretty good band
The bartender's working on a late night shift She's bonka blonds and Bon aims on a midnight drift And the dance band's playing the same old slam I'm sinking
lyrical gift brought on by a tiff within the band gotta release that shit so i don't release my fist full-force to your face causing your bones to shift
got the moves, oh, whey, oh You drop your drink then they bring you more All the school kids so sick of books They like the punk and the metal band
matter 'Cause I'm the one to blame I'm startin' to act strange Facin' every challange shit Incredible hope, lyrical amalgam bitch Oh my gosh, oh my gosh I'ma band
your girl right 'fore I dick her Down Waka Flocka Flame (Flocka!) I got racks on top of racks (Uh!), stacks on top of stacks (Uh!) Bands on top of bands
roar of his engine he heard somebody shout. "stand on it. come on, boy, stand on it." Mary beth started to shift, she hit the shift, But she
gats as long as axe We snatch that cheese right off the trap We put those Beez all on your map From the Vil to Brazil, live on your C-SPAN radio band
Play C-3, let the song protest The plates begin to shift Perfect lefts come rolling in I was alone and far away When I heard the band start playing
the way, 'long the way, hey Walking out on the boys Was never the plan We just drifted off course Couldn't strike up the band We'd been working the graveyard shift
(Trick Daddy) We gon let the band deal with this... You know we had to remix the damn thing right? For all them bustas... All them niggas hating on Slip
still shards in the road Shackled wooden windows The hero to the cell, he doesn't look to well A cardio, love send face down in the dirt Make shift,
Tear it down in double quick time To get the 'A' truck shifted 'bout midnight The locker rooms are empty but the strobo tuners Still spin with their pitching
Down a secondary road that severely shows it's age The forties comes to life on a make-shift stage. It's the bob roberts society band. Playing every
man up to the microphone right now (here we go, come On) And goes by the name of uh, well he doesn't know (check it out come on yo) Shape shifting,