Besedila: 311. Grassroots. Salsa.

We were born in the seventies
the rippin and rhyming and brethren see
we're filling taste great in the old school I was eight
for the new school I was late
but in high school I was debate
I rate in the great state of California, I'm warning ya
Me no je vais a la plage parce que le guignol est chouette!
I kick non sense in French
tasty like Crepe Suzette
I bet your feelin' famished for a 311 sandwich
but not the wack dj's that I'ma damage
I like a beat that's unique and yes
I like my head zooming
and in my Continental you know that s---'s booming
with the diamond in the back suicide doors
you can look from here to eternity
and never receive your morsel

Another tale of ordinary madness
the girl who gave you her sex I heard was homeless
say all I really wanna is to feel nirvana
won't you take me tonight and we just might find a bottle
of wine and feel our nasty nature
your tongue lickin' up my tongue
your radio pickin' up a Smokey jazz love song
madness becomes you even though your
livin' life it's hard to exist when you're tempted by flesh
you wanna bust through
beautiful legs in the bar there is poetry
she bends and suspends and her ass
is a marvelous thing a dance dancin' at a club the
hereafter who can't really dance but
that doesn't really matter
and she won't hear applause cuz your drunk and lost
all light is gone, your arms spread like across
and you're dreaming that the world will soon fall apart
topless girl in your gaze which is hazy takes your dollar
in the gutter without cigarettes or wine you're hungover
I was warned of your normal behavior and felt
my life was too short to consider your wack self
it's like this when you dip down
and you are boxin' reeling against the ropes
and you face some young Mexican
your scrappin' your neck gets snapped back your eyes
have bled your thinking' this is your comeback
but your takin' it to the head
you little bastard better watch you back
cuz we're after your punk a-- by God we're gonna jack it
you're played out and small time and your show is over
you're 'bout as lucky as a three leaf clover
and your older ho bag sceezer in her droopy saggy skin
who thought she was a model
but in truth a never-has-been
you both are fools, you and your cheap rooms too the cigar biting your lips the way love use to