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.
Where is the guillotine?
Let 'em eat yellow cake
Shooter with a nuclear family of killers
Willing to juice the concentrate
Fool it’s a sauna
Light a fire under your honor
They’re talking life to a lifer
I’m liking the odds gimme the water
Give her the pill give 'em the needle
Beetle Baileys of this world
All getting killed someday
Say partner, say dog
Say what, say what’s going on? Pause
This is a stickup
Stuckup motherfucker come get some
Jet some, he floss some flotsam
Boss, um, they got salads to toss, um
Crosses to burn, um, losses to learn from
Collars to turn up a tear the club up thug
A juicy-jay on a motherfucker
They cuttin' a rug up
A cut up motherfucker looking like lady luck
So buck up young buck we got bucks
Like hoes got fucks to give
She don’t give a fuck, shit, you better not
Heads high kill em with the
Kill 'em with the filament
You feeling it? A filibuster filling
Bust and feeling bust
You feel like busting out
Bedside manner with some dead eye-candy
Apple-red dye fanny pack
A sack of baby fat’d better back it up
Where the titties at? Show that kitty cat
Better getting milky with the silky weave
Sweating on the satin sheets rap about it
Be about it, be about it
Beat it up, the beef is in the freezer
But he keep that heater creepin' up
Shorty boo, baby momma, make it clap
Give it up, drop it low
Push it, spread it, bite it, kill it
Get it get it throwing paper for the coochie
Slapping Gucci, rockin' Gucci
Give her Gucci, get’s the pussy
Redder in the bed or in the car
Whippin a rolls, rollin' a blunt
Dick in a ho, making it bump
Faking the funk, seizin
Partner it’s too seasoned
Fuck with a Pimp-C walk
With a little bit of mouth
Please turn em out, preach on a soapbox
Botox, cold hot, ho watch it
Who gonna fuck with the trillest?
The building they building down there
On the block got no windows up in it
Back like it’s crack for the roaches and rats
Giving daps to the dividends
Backhand a bitch in the car
Stars are for rappers, the televised trappers
This shit is the realest
That’s how come he feel it
So hard he will knock it
While driving to work
And he work on the first and the fifteenth
When knox got the check in they pockets
He pick it, she lock it
She roll it and drop it
The acid is burning the weed
Smoke it out, high as a bird from the trees
Cali dro, Cali go cataracts, freeze
Hands in the sky
Dive in and driving the Lambo
And crying from coming down hard
Pulling the card, carrying hood motherfucker
My lord
Balls of the word, scriptures is semen
They seeming disturbed
Flipping the bird, kicked to the curb
Ya hunger with yams to be served
Let 'em eat yellow cake
Shooter with a nuclear family of killers
Willing to juice the concentrate
Fool it’s a sauna
Light a fire under your honor
They’re talking life to a lifer
I’m liking the odds gimme the water
Give her the pill give 'em the needle
Beetle Baileys of this world
All getting killed someday
Say partner, say dog
Say what, say what’s going on? Pause
This is a stickup
Stuckup motherfucker come get some
Jet some, he floss some flotsam
Boss, um, they got salads to toss, um
Crosses to burn, um, losses to learn from
Collars to turn up a tear the club up thug
A juicy-jay on a motherfucker
They cuttin' a rug up
A cut up motherfucker looking like lady luck
So buck up young buck we got bucks
Like hoes got fucks to give
She don’t give a fuck, shit, you better not
Heads high kill em with the
Kill 'em with the filament
You feeling it? A filibuster filling
Bust and feeling bust
You feel like busting out
Bedside manner with some dead eye-candy
Apple-red dye fanny pack
A sack of baby fat’d better back it up
Where the titties at? Show that kitty cat
Better getting milky with the silky weave
Sweating on the satin sheets rap about it
Be about it, be about it
Beat it up, the beef is in the freezer
But he keep that heater creepin' up
Shorty boo, baby momma, make it clap
Give it up, drop it low
Push it, spread it, bite it, kill it
Get it get it throwing paper for the coochie
Slapping Gucci, rockin' Gucci
Give her Gucci, get’s the pussy
Redder in the bed or in the car
Whippin a rolls, rollin' a blunt
Dick in a ho, making it bump
Faking the funk, seizin
Partner it’s too seasoned
Fuck with a Pimp-C walk
With a little bit of mouth
Please turn em out, preach on a soapbox
Botox, cold hot, ho watch it
Who gonna fuck with the trillest?
The building they building down there
On the block got no windows up in it
Back like it’s crack for the roaches and rats
Giving daps to the dividends
Backhand a bitch in the car
Stars are for rappers, the televised trappers
This shit is the realest
That’s how come he feel it
So hard he will knock it
While driving to work
And he work on the first and the fifteenth
When knox got the check in they pockets
He pick it, she lock it
She roll it and drop it
The acid is burning the weed
Smoke it out, high as a bird from the trees
Cali dro, Cali go cataracts, freeze
Hands in the sky
Dive in and driving the Lambo
And crying from coming down hard
Pulling the card, carrying hood motherfucker
My lord
Balls of the word, scriptures is semen
They seeming disturbed
Flipping the bird, kicked to the curb
Ya hunger with yams to be served
Lyrics submitted by furyroad97
five Lyrics as written by William Moran Hutson Daveed Diggs
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave, Fintage House Publishing
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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