In regards to the meaning of this song:
Before a live performance on the EP Five Stories Falling, Geoff states “It’s about the last time I went to visit my grandmother in Columbus, and I saw that she was dying and it was the last time I was going to see her. It is about realizing how young you are, but how quickly you can go.”
That’s the thing about Geoff and his sublime poetry, you think it’s about one thing, but really it’s about something entirely different. But the lyrics are still universal and omnipresent, ubiquitous, even. So relatable. That’s one thing I love about this band. I also love their live performances, raw energy and Geoff’s beautiful, imperfectly perfect vocals. His voice soothes my aching soul.
On the count of three I want everybody to say
I'm a motherfuckin' Coke Boy!
One, two
I'm a motherfuckin' Coke Boy!
You'll let me in
With those whiskey eyes
You'll tell me things
I know they're all lies
I will fight, I'll fight for you
And there's nothing I can't do
Yeah, Montana
Hit the game, put the wave in it
Go and tap yo veins, put the needle in it
I'll snatch you by your head, like an eagle did it
Shootout with the police, like Seigel did it
Middle of the streets, like the Beatles did it
Can't be in it when you leave, or they leave you in it
Everything that's gold ain't what it glitter
I seen killers fold, foes turn to killers
Have your money right, when the law call
I seen my favorite rappers turn to calm ball
The best thing I did was let the pain hurt my feelings
Turn the pain into music
Turn the music into millions
Got jerked my first deal, now I tell 'em suck a dick
Once I make my first mil, told 'em fuck a brick
Brick, brick by brick, 'til it's empire
Lick by lick, go and sleep wide
Had to learn taxes, help you relax
If you don't own your map, then classics turn to ashes
So I hit the round table, count it all up
Or get the brown bag, count it all up
Call the bad bitches, round 'em all up
Count it first, nigga count it all up
Millionaire bitches, hit them all up
You'll let me in
With those whiskey eyes
You'll tell me things
I know they're all lies
I will fight, I'll fight for you
And there's nothing I can't do
They said kill 'em with success, toe tag ya
Name a Hollywood bitch I ain't rag yet
Promise, that pressure turn to diamonds
The comma turn to commas
If the block told your Honor, I'm
Seeing dreams in the box
The youngest turned to Papa
Trips out to Cabo, D.C with the models
There's Tammy from Miami
Put her face on the white like Sosa
Come and get a close up
I'm on the post like a power forward
From the hoodies to the Tom Ford
Big up, for the stick up
They wanted me to hiccup
I copped a Bent' over sticker
I'm 'bout to come and pick your chick up
Gladiator theme music, with Casino suits
Godfather trilogy, Al Pacino shoot
This that Benny Blanco 'fore he killed Carlito
This that Larry Davis before he caught the RICO
Them Bronx streets, teflon fleets
In the jungle, while you holding hands in Palm Beach
We was climbing fences, we was playing benches
One time for my bitches, naked on the trenches
European boots, European suits
African diamonds, my nigga shining
My nigga Chinx's son became my own son
The block where I'm from you need your own gun
Devil help me, I'm figuring that I'll convert to God
Took my grind from the pavement, and aimed it at the stars
Swag drippin' by the liter, full ounce of purp
The game ain't for the weak, go on play the church
Off the Mary Jane, pills, syrup, thick smoke, coughing
Ridin' on these suckers that opposing
Ballin', took the whistle from the ref and made my own calls
Fuck the pigs, got my homie on a phone call
No work, money goes under the mattress only
Hands clean, got some young's that'll bag it for me
Rarely skating, but your car flick diamonds only
Made my vow to the game, boy that's matrimony
You'll let me in
With those whiskey eyes
You'll tell me things
I know they're all lies
I will fight, I'll fight for you
And there's nothing I can't do
I'm a motherfuckin' Coke Boy!
One, two
I'm a motherfuckin' Coke Boy!
You'll let me in
With those whiskey eyes
You'll tell me things
I know they're all lies
I will fight, I'll fight for you
And there's nothing I can't do
Yeah, Montana
Hit the game, put the wave in it
Go and tap yo veins, put the needle in it
I'll snatch you by your head, like an eagle did it
Shootout with the police, like Seigel did it
Middle of the streets, like the Beatles did it
Can't be in it when you leave, or they leave you in it
Everything that's gold ain't what it glitter
I seen killers fold, foes turn to killers
Have your money right, when the law call
I seen my favorite rappers turn to calm ball
The best thing I did was let the pain hurt my feelings
Turn the pain into music
Turn the music into millions
Got jerked my first deal, now I tell 'em suck a dick
Once I make my first mil, told 'em fuck a brick
Brick, brick by brick, 'til it's empire
Lick by lick, go and sleep wide
Had to learn taxes, help you relax
If you don't own your map, then classics turn to ashes
So I hit the round table, count it all up
Or get the brown bag, count it all up
Call the bad bitches, round 'em all up
Count it first, nigga count it all up
Millionaire bitches, hit them all up
You'll let me in
With those whiskey eyes
You'll tell me things
I know they're all lies
I will fight, I'll fight for you
And there's nothing I can't do
They said kill 'em with success, toe tag ya
Name a Hollywood bitch I ain't rag yet
Promise, that pressure turn to diamonds
The comma turn to commas
If the block told your Honor, I'm
Seeing dreams in the box
The youngest turned to Papa
Trips out to Cabo, D.C with the models
There's Tammy from Miami
Put her face on the white like Sosa
Come and get a close up
I'm on the post like a power forward
From the hoodies to the Tom Ford
Big up, for the stick up
They wanted me to hiccup
I copped a Bent' over sticker
I'm 'bout to come and pick your chick up
Gladiator theme music, with Casino suits
Godfather trilogy, Al Pacino shoot
This that Benny Blanco 'fore he killed Carlito
This that Larry Davis before he caught the RICO
Them Bronx streets, teflon fleets
In the jungle, while you holding hands in Palm Beach
We was climbing fences, we was playing benches
One time for my bitches, naked on the trenches
European boots, European suits
African diamonds, my nigga shining
My nigga Chinx's son became my own son
The block where I'm from you need your own gun
Devil help me, I'm figuring that I'll convert to God
Took my grind from the pavement, and aimed it at the stars
Swag drippin' by the liter, full ounce of purp
The game ain't for the weak, go on play the church
Off the Mary Jane, pills, syrup, thick smoke, coughing
Ridin' on these suckers that opposing
Ballin', took the whistle from the ref and made my own calls
Fuck the pigs, got my homie on a phone call
No work, money goes under the mattress only
Hands clean, got some young's that'll bag it for me
Rarely skating, but your car flick diamonds only
Made my vow to the game, boy that's matrimony
You'll let me in
With those whiskey eyes
You'll tell me things
I know they're all lies
I will fight, I'll fight for you
And there's nothing I can't do
Lyrics submitted by Mellow_Harsher
Whiskey Eyes Lyrics as written by Lionel Pickens Karim Kharbouch
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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