Chris Farley

Hilltop Hoods

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    I wanna party like Bon Scott on Charlie, Bob Marley non-stop
    Chris Farley pissed, party on like the bombs dropped
    So if you're "just too fucking blind" you know what's what
    You're feeling like "blaaagh"
    I wanna party like Bon Scott on Charlie, Bob Marley non-stop
    Chris Farley pissed, party on like the bombs dropped
    So if you're "drunk on Friday night" you know what's what
    You're feeling like "bluuugh" you know what's what

    I wanna go out like Biggie and 'Pac
    No gunfire, I'm talking rum and dry, hit me with shots
    Tequila and scotch, I'll wind up on the idiot box
    Six o'clock with a grand tucked into my socks
    My obituary notice will say that most of my days
    Were spent inside a bottle and a toast will be raised
    Until conspiracy theories say they know I'm okay
    I'll drop seven more albums by my ghost from the grave

    I wanna die in Memphis like Elvis
    Senseless on the toilet pissing on my own pelvis
    Helpless, choking on vodka and shellfish
    Get found by my girl like "God, you're so selfish"
    Well-wishers at my wake saying he'll be well missed
    But wait till they're well pissed, they'll wish me to hell with
    Everybody that I wanted to party with anyway
    Don't care if it's a hundred and ninety degrees centigrade

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    Like Jim Morrison, I wanna party till my heart stop
    Tripping in a bath with a stripper and a glass of
    Liquor in my grasp, man I figure that my last of
    Days should be crazed, I'm a live it till I'm passed on
    If any grief is shed, leave it said
    I would remind 'em just how far the dream has led
    So when it's time for me, be finally relieved I'm dead
    I want to exit how I entered, between some legs

    I wanna bender like Hendrix, you blend six liquors with ten drinks
    (Ten-four buddy) Well it's like ten-six
    (Yo, when it's) Ten sixteen in the morning
    My girl will send sixteen messages to me warning
    We'll be exes if I don't exit, so exit
    The next shit's getting called a sexist at breakfast
    So let's get our phones and all set 'em to flight mode
    And let the horns fly through the hook and take us right home

    Tell me how does it feel...
    To be on your own...
    On a bender like a Rolling Stone?

    Song details

    Composition: Debris, Suffa, and Pressure

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