Hey, mister, would you like my sister Her name is juanita, I think. you'd like to meet her. She's a little bit risky, Drinking always whiskey. But she
Translation: Kevin Ayers. Fake Mexican Tourist Blues.
sane With a little known fact she'd be hopeless to resist All the things she missed [Chorus 1] It was love, but I couldn't fake it Things would be
ohhh...Yeahh Carolina blue dress Same color shoes You know Ima need to dress to impress Hair ponytail Little bit of make-up I'm chillin wit my man today
in you, griller wanna give you a pen Stick it to your crew like glue like they been down Man listen, kill that bull with the fake-ass handshakes You can
was ill, they didn't come to play Bust a right turn, parked and then we got left Hid in the the bushes, shot the gas tank to fake death But would this
for a book, listen and look, now let's do some Math A gun and a hand, plus an angry man, minus love Equals and me, the sky's blue and they rags Toe-tags
headbanger Yah, I got a gang of shits Styles guns my Uzzie wieghts a mutha-fuckin' ton Bucking down one, bucking down two Bucking down your crew, mutha fuck you Pigs were blue
hit the street looking for love Affection and devotion, met none of the above Looked me in the face like a slave set free Met me in the club working your fake
'm pouring Chandon And I roll the best weed 'Cause I got it going on I'm a gangsta but y'all knew that Da Big Bo$$ Dogg, yeah, I had to do that I keep a blue
be a fake punk is a mystery Just gwaan mon do what you do Nuh bodda hype afta mi nuh bodda look pon mi crew CHO!!! All these fake niggaz is runnin around
And niggas on the lookout Take away your strips of General status, baddest Always move them anyways Creep only when I attack my rap squad are fake Gods
cool for gettin' the cheddar So I suggest you better People say when love comes your way You will know how to take it Others say you won't know So just fake
all these fake nigga type dudes Chicks wanna rotate with these eight figga type dudes Im a fresh dude, white T and throw back dude All white shoes...blue
I come, I won't just pop over, out the blue I hope that you do too I'll call before I come, I won't just pop over, out the blue No, after you Oh, thank
to plot Or these niggaz on the block who want the queen (Nigga please) But even she can walk we'll miss her we ain't gon' fake it But God don't make mistakes
you're about an eight or a nine Maybe even nine and a half in four beers time That blue top shop top you've got on is nice Bit too much fake tan though
lower Like a tired soldier With nothing' to shoot And nowhere dreams it's a Bottle of blues There's definitely a plan Yeah, what? Well I just found me a bottle of blues