Robert Raymon Roy Lyrics & Tabs by Robert Raimon Roy
Robert Raymon Roy
guitar chords lyrics
I'm Robert Raimon Roy
As in that boy from the cul-de-sac of Provost Court:
Still Jacksonville, Florida
Heat fries
Red, blue, and white snowcones
Licking them honeysuckles like sticky ribs at Bono's
But nuff 'bout the culi-nary, won't marry
No bitch in Hollywood 'less push comes to carry
Polygamy epiphanies in Los Feliz
When the door rings, and hope she's at home, but she's . . . not, like your birthday
Watch my hair salt
And pepper 'fore I get some sign she might want to give me no mo' hard time
Don't go out bar time,
Cause when you in the club you meet someone disguised
Now, I've muddied some things, but aim to provide
Don't go out bar time,
Cause when you in the club you meet someone disguised
Now, I've muddied some things, but aim to provide
A push off the right foot that do remind you who spits that jewelry, I'm . . .
R-R-Robert Raimon Roy
Before my days on the Metro, I had a Toyo-ta—a white one—was my Mama's '84 Cressida
I'd go over Jessica's, and hope she would let me put
My hand on her titty if my wood
Was speaking to her wetness
Get this:
Now I'm yelling, "Girl, let's not have sex yet. You ain't good spelling!"
Though you got good looks, I know you will be damned
Like banned books into some nook if you put on some flab
As there's always a youngin' I can feel young with
Take her to the crib, and sang some shit funky
Or swag, like they say these days on the Tumblr
Or some other adjective that stands for wonder-ful
Anywho
That's formality, but unusual the same: I'm saying, uncanny!
Can't be asking, if you need to crash my home with no employment and all your 43 bags
You know that's your bad, can't nobody have . . .
R-R-Robert Raimon Roy
Not allergic to the pollen, but I got me a hanky
She parked in my driveway, decided to hand me a job
Now, the fog made me want them undies
My ex-girl buddy, felt her silly putty
When I came through, she came too like dupli-cate
Then maneuvered to recline and shoot the manure
While we dreamed 'bout what we would do in the future:
Was it school, or would I move to the West and break out of the cycle?
Have another life too?
Find me a wife who'll cook food on the grill, or maybe have a few?
But 'til then I'll do . . .
R-R-Robert Raimon Roy
