The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
(La Musica de Harry Fraud)
La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Keep the E in it
Chevy's on switches, baby, we smoking weed in it
Don't post me in your pictures
If you could keep a secret, we could always kick it
This what they fuckin' with me for in the first place
Documented my rise, represented my birthplace
My homeboys buy me muscle cars on my birthday
My homeboys steamroll probably before I know that they in the way
My bitch in the tub, she got your bitch feeding her grapes
I'm watching Carlito's Way
Your friend since the fourth grade got you on tape
Called up, they threatened to throw him behind the gates
If he didn't cooperate
He handed you over that day on the silver plate to escape
Total disgrace, we don't do things that way
I ordered the Wraith, it's handmade, it take 180 days
You want it to happen overnight, you having a bad dream
When you wake up, my team beat and fled the scene
With all the cream, that's right, British racing green
On my latest foreign machine
Seat color look real close to tangerine peels
Soldier told ya what happens to fakes in the field
I'll pour out a whole bottle for my partner, he that real ill
Eastside at all times still
Chevrolet on three wheels at the red light standing still
Reputation on stainless steel
'58 Continental, dawg
Digital dashboard, no analog
Turn the corner and raise the front
My music is hella loud, so is this blunt
Unadulterated funk, baby
With four fifteens up in the trunk, baby
What a day, I play to play
'Bout to scoop up my brand new Chevrolet
And it's a dope ride, Duval gave it to me
It's on some Florida shit, you know the flavor, homie
It's stitched by Slick, so it's sick as fuck
Police behind me, they on my nuts
But they'll never catch a G like me
I do the right thing, bitch, like I was Spike Lee
And I might be in a IROC or a 5.0
Or a Cadillac fo sho, layin' real low
Moon roof open with the fin tails
Inhale, exhale, chem trails
Me and Spitta, that's some real shit
Crip'd up and whipped up, hand on the kill switch
Say, you better know it, man
From the NO to the LBC
It's what we do, man
We get to it like we do it
Always on that fluid
Spitta, Snoop Dogg
Y'all know what time it is
We gon' ride out to this shit, so gangsta
Yeah, we in a caravan right now
'Bout sixty-five cars
Cadillacs, Chevrolets, Monte Carlos, IROCs
5.0s, Falcons, Cougars, Mustangs
I mean, I mean
That nigga in that Cutlass, that shit cold
That shit slick, uh
Okay, fifty-something Belair, huh?
I can dig it, mm, yeah
(La Musica de Harry Fraud)
La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Keep the E in it
Chevy's on switches, baby, we smoking weed in it
Don't post me in your pictures
If you could keep a secret, we could always kick it
This what they fuckin' with me for in the first place
Documented my rise, represented my birthplace
My homeboys buy me muscle cars on my birthday
My homeboys steamroll probably before I know that they in the way
My bitch in the tub, she got your bitch feeding her grapes
I'm watching Carlito's Way
Your friend since the fourth grade got you on tape
Called up, they threatened to throw him behind the gates
If he didn't cooperate
He handed you over that day on the silver plate to escape
Total disgrace, we don't do things that way
I ordered the Wraith, it's handmade, it take 180 days
You want it to happen overnight, you having a bad dream
When you wake up, my team beat and fled the scene
With all the cream, that's right, British racing green
On my latest foreign machine
Seat color look real close to tangerine peels
Soldier told ya what happens to fakes in the field
I'll pour out a whole bottle for my partner, he that real ill
Eastside at all times still
Chevrolet on three wheels at the red light standing still
Reputation on stainless steel
'58 Continental, dawg
Digital dashboard, no analog
Turn the corner and raise the front
My music is hella loud, so is this blunt
Unadulterated funk, baby
With four fifteens up in the trunk, baby
What a day, I play to play
'Bout to scoop up my brand new Chevrolet
And it's a dope ride, Duval gave it to me
It's on some Florida shit, you know the flavor, homie
It's stitched by Slick, so it's sick as fuck
Police behind me, they on my nuts
But they'll never catch a G like me
I do the right thing, bitch, like I was Spike Lee
And I might be in a IROC or a 5.0
Or a Cadillac fo sho, layin' real low
Moon roof open with the fin tails
Inhale, exhale, chem trails
Me and Spitta, that's some real shit
Crip'd up and whipped up, hand on the kill switch
Say, you better know it, man
From the NO to the LBC
It's what we do, man
We get to it like we do it
Always on that fluid
Spitta, Snoop Dogg
Y'all know what time it is
We gon' ride out to this shit, so gangsta
Yeah, we in a caravan right now
'Bout sixty-five cars
Cadillacs, Chevrolets, Monte Carlos, IROCs
5.0s, Falcons, Cougars, Mustangs
I mean, I mean
That nigga in that Cutlass, that shit cold
That shit slick, uh
Okay, fifty-something Belair, huh?
I can dig it, mm, yeah
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
180 Days Lyrics as written by Rory William Quigley Shante Scott Franklin
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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