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lirik lagu porn flakes – tonedeff

v1
friday night, and yo, we just got paid/
we’re on our way to sight miami, f-l-a nightlife to
promenade/
it’s time to say exactly where to route the streets to
scout freaks…/
the words that collectively come out each mouth be
south beach/
we seek to reach the sheets of hotel suites that’s
candy coated/
so, yo, if you’re bringing a van, you’d better believe
it’s gonna get loaded/
to the full. cause rbm is in effect to that extent/
we rent a hundred percent of the b-tches at the age of
consent/
(so here we go) we hit the spot about a quarter to
twelve-/
it’s tone, logic, opie 1, and g-i-double the l/
craze is the definition of record spinnin’ precision/
gettin’ chicks in position’s the mission of this
expedition/
so, my vision is in focus on the dancefloor/
more ‘get-it, get it’- ‘shake that -ss’- wh-r-s than
you could ask for/
and as for logic, there was some blonde b-tch with some
t-ts that looked atomic saying she want it-/
that calculated n-gg-’s counting on it/
ope and gill were scoopin’ b-tches by the numbers/
so i began to wonder if i would p-ss to wax that -ss
before my slumber/
u under a full-over-miami-moon/
but soon enough she simply hit me with a smile and
said, “hi, my name is trixie.”/
she said she was a gypsy, told me i was s-xy/
wanted to show me she could do origami with her p-ssy
lips/
she tried to kiss me on the spot, i guess she deemed
she felt the need/
i said, “i know you’re fast trixie, but my name is not
speed.”/
she was barely 19, but, f-ck, the b-tch was lookin’
wicked/
with them type of d-s-l’s that screamed for you to put
your d-ck inside her mouth/
she’d turn it out, i’m shoutin’ no doubt and no
question/
when it comes to blows this girl would cave your
f-ckin’ chest in/
so, next in the mode of operations is to ditch/
with trixie, logic, opie, gill, and the atomic t-tty
b-tch/
i flip the switch to open the trunk, so we can load the
extra baggage/
now it seems we’ve got more people than i think the van
can manage/
so, yes, i begin to panic, and, man, i’m throwin fits/
and i’m just swerving, cause i can’t see past atomic
b-tch’s t-ts/
now, ‘ahh, sh-t’, here come the pigs and they be
burnin’ my tail/
they said, “excuse me, tone, we heard you had some herb
to inhale…”/
i said, “i’m sorry, officer, i’m not that type of mc./
see, i embellish the status of my creativity/
(y) b-tches are my addiction when the rhythm can’t be/
but, i won’t tell no one you asked me if you let me go
free.”/
he said, “si”, which translated to our -sses moving on
to the part of the song that had us naked in the sauna
at motel iguana/
now, opie’s b-tch’s name was shauna and gill’s was
ivana/
and those two hookers was too live to be as nasty as
they wanna/
talkin’ ‘bout whips and hand-cuffs, claiming only when
they’re battered and bruised they’ve had ‘nuff/
now, that’s ruff and tumble sh-t i’m not equipped to
handle/
if she wants to be a m-s-ch-st, then that’s a b-tch i
can’t get with/
they said, “chill.” took off the panties, spread legs
they flexed/
certain proceeds of the paychecks went towards latex
for safe s-x/
it’s time to get my face wet, the p-ssy taste test/
trixie tells me my d-ck tastes best while i remove the
b-tch’s playtex/
the s-xual apex. this scene resembles an x-rated
playset/
swinging upon the d-cks they park on, so, now the place
gets/
hotter than steam boats. pull out the willie in a
hurry/
she said, “d-mn, you’re d-ck is bigger than them words
from keith murray”/
‘yo, it bee’s like that sometimes’, stinging that -ss
with fury/
don’t wear no yellow jacket, still georgia tech hoes
prefer me/
‘cause you can’t lose with this big johnson, it’s a
casino up in here/
because it’s licker up front and poker in the rear/
i strip and lose the t-shirt. we flirt with penetration
for a second/
i tickled the cl-t, ‘cause i figured the b-tch would
now resort to beggin’/
i’m slippin’ the d-ck in with that special move for
wreckin’/
checkin’ the f-cks like hockey pucks and -ss attackin’
like it’s tekken 2/
i betcha guessin’ who would ever have a night (such
as)/
the one i’m talkin’ about, where me and the crew be
gettin’ (much -ss)/
not poppin’ trash, but, yo, any dirt could happen/
so, uh, just gimme a second so i can keep that -ss
splackin.

v2
so, anyways, as i was saying, yo, the f-ckfest
proceeds/
four kids be fixed in friction, four hookers be on
their knees/
like in one way or the other, either, they’re lickin’
c-cks or gettin rocked/
just when you thought 8 was enough- well it’s not/
(knock, knock) who’s at the door?/
i be trippin over them hookers on the floor tryin’ to
get my pants on/
hey, yo, it’s 3:34 in the morning, time’s p-ssed on/
yo, it was mannyphesto and dj craze with their grasps
on/
2 other rave b-tches that i didn’t recognize/
sized ‘em up enough to give the ‘go head’, so they
could dive/
into the live wire strip twister match we had going…/
t-ts and -ss showin’, everybody hoeing’ in the place/
no sp-ce, it was a blatant exhibition/
face fishin’ between the hips till we create the next
position in the kama sutra/
we shoot to make the text revisions/
‘sutra’ comma; makin’ ‘em scream for preposition
repet-tions/
no matter how cute you are, you’re probably a future
star for p-rno/
rubbing my d-ck in the car, so, yo, quit trying to act
so formal/
her s-xual appet-te’s beyond abnormal, so you know that
when the morn’ breaks/
she want’s to eat another bowl of p-rn flakes/
but, there’s a double meaning to the term/
second being a ditsy-b-tch that keeps it creamin’ on a
firm c-ck/
and she can burn spots and light ‘em up; she never
minds a f-ck/
she’ll even make a frigid n-gg- turn hot to ride him
up/
but, right now, i’m tryin’ to suck this hoochie’s
coochie/
while f-ckin’ the brains out this b-tch that’s workin’
my d-ck, and i’m hearing “switch!”/
it’s a house party, baby, kids be glued to the couch/
the time has c-m for n-gg-s to do the same and
‘spoochindamouth’!/
so, yo, we’re bustin’ nuts, and us- we aim at the chin/
and i lost it when logic said to his b-tch, “yo, what’s
your name again?”/
gilligan, opie, craze, and mannyphesto did the same/
but, before i had the chance to change, yo, i noticed
something strange./
there was something about trixie that really bothered
me/
a big ole’ f-ckin’ grin on her face like she just won
the lottery/
when i figured she oughtta be brushing her teeth or
finding her bra…/
but, yo, my eyes were in awe when she bust out the
chainsaw/
my brain stalled for a second i hopped back with no
hesitation/
i caught the relation of this hooker’s saw and
mutilation/
the closer she came, the more we shouted/
she said, “motherf-ckers, you’re ‘bout to suffer the
same fame as john bobbit!”/
suddenly, the cameramen jumped out the closet/
and that tig-ole’ bitty b-tch’s t-ts turned out to be
atomic/
and them shauna and ivana girls were totally robotic/
and them 2 rave b-tches-well, they were knotted from
the jump./
(but, anyhow) this trixie b-tch was wiggin’ on me, on
the spot/
she said, “it’s men like you who turn us women into
s-xpots/
and meat- pieces objectified. i’m here to rectify the
stain!”/
then the girl took off her face and, godd-mn, “it’s
chasey lain”/
then they all took off their masks and what a change if
i’ve ever seen/
to sunset hookers, actresses, and supermodel beauty
queens/
i wonder what this truly means… it’s all a scheme to
make me pay/
for being a dog, yo, f-ck this, move out b-tch get
outta my way—” (chainsaw ensues)

- tonedeff

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