All Hands on Deck

Mm-mm

I want your germs, “Sick” is a word
Death is a state of mind like time
But I′m not, I’m real
At least I think, dare I say
You know cash is king out west
And mattresses open up as often as bugs land on bums
Hands on, all hands on deck, we all dying out here
But I smile out here in the face of death
Funny how we all stuck, but you can′t connect
And everybody looks at you, and breaks their neck
And you can’t get rest, you can’t even get arrested
′Cause we all doin′ it, hawk tuah, get famous, hop to it, get sober
Now do it, now do it, motherfucker
Man, you got a son, you gotta get to it fast, man, you gotta run
You gotta come up with something, you better come up with something
Some type of fund, some type of trust, but don’t nobody trust nobody, so what the fuck?
So, try your hardest, you stale and starving dying artist
You mailman hotel front desk working that same job
Hoping that same job pays off, but it don′t make no difference
So, make your living, make your missus happy
Go down on her, don’t fuck around on her
I did, you see how that worked
Could I get a “alleluia”?

Breathing, I wanna help with your breathing
I wanna inhabit your safe zone, ah
Leaving, I think we′re better off leaving
I wanna trouble you

Ooh, ooh-ooh