Testo: Offspring. Ixnay On The Hombre. Mota.

Mota

Everyday, well it's the same
That bong that's on the table starts to call my name
I take a hit and zone out again
I'll be paranoid and hungry by a quarter to ten

Watching reruns on my TV
I'm laughing off my ass at Three's Company
I don't know if I'm understood
Buy hearing Jimmy Buffett never sounded so good

Your memory's gone and so is your life, your life
Mota Boy, but losing out just never felt so right
Your enemy's you and so is your life, your life
Mota Boy, but losing out might feel okay all night

Mota

I'm driving down to the barrio
Going 15 miles an hour 'cause I'm already stoned
Give the guy a twenty and wait in the car
He tosses me a baggie then he runs real far

I take a hit but it smells like a clove
Oh, fuck I got a baggie of oregano
This ritual is destroying me
But I guess it could be worse, it could be methedrine

Mota, your memory's gone and so is your life, your life
Mota Boy, but losing out just never felt so right
Your enemy's you and your couch is your life, your Life
Mota Boy, but losing out might take, losing out might take you all night

Mota

Your memory's gone and so is your life, your life
Mota Boy, but losing out just never felt so right
Your enemy's you and this is your life, your life
Mota Boy, but losing out might feel okay all night
All night, yeah, losing out might feel okay all night