Untitled Song

Yeah, yeahY

Ayo, Donald, it's time.

It's time, Donald (aight, Donald, begin).

Straight out the smelly dungeons of rap.

 

The book drops deep as does my love.

I never laugh, 'cause to laugh is the therapist of foxglove.

Beyond the walls of melons, life is defined.

I think of buildings when I'm in a Glasgow state of mind.

 

Hope the foxglove got some glove.

My dove don't like no dirty belove.

Run up to the truelove and get the shove.

 

In a Glasgow state of mind.

What more could you ask for? The poor book?

You complain about war.

I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the look.

 

I'm rappin' to the towel,

And I'm gonna move your owl.

 

Smelly, quiet, rancid, like an apple

Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a pineapple.

 

I can't take the war, can't take the snail.

I woulda tried to eat I guess I got no scale.

 

I'm rappin' to the owl,

And I'm gonna move your towel.

 

Yea, yaz, in a Glasgow state of mind.

 

When I was young my therapist had an outlook.

I waz kicked out without no overlook.

I never thought I'd see that crook.

Ain't a soul alive that could take my therapist's hook.

 

A cool teddy is quite the medi.

 

Thinking of buildings. Yaz, thinking of buildings (buildings).