Find My Other Body lyrics


Queen Michael

You can find my other body at the bottom of the Mississippi

I encountered death and I have survived
I created a monster and somehow brought it to life
I am the drifting soul who always survives
Consider a warning, motherf*cker: I will not die
I'm on the train of thought that takes me
All the way down to Georgia
Got these rich girls praying for procession
Down in south Florida
Don't want no pill if it’s poppin'
I want the beat if it’s droppin'
Roll one up and I’ll meet you in the truck
With sacks I've been rockin'
Trop-A-Delic Funk-A-Shizzle Hunky Dory Mrs. Wiggle
You got that ass that makes me trip
I’m seeing double, single, triple
Pop them yoga pants into a vegan handstand and flip it
While I'm sipping on my drink
And booking shows while I’m trippin’
Putting exes on my calendar and O’s on my headstone
Tattooing my name on your left thigh next to your bones
Left eye, snake eye, red eye flight to California
Got a couple people waitin'
And you don't wanna leave ‘em lonely
You can find my other body at the bottom of the Mississippi
Wish I was just singin' ‘hallelujah’, but I can’t stop gettin' trippy
Can't stop

Concrete shoes

Madonna Mafia
Sleeping with the fishes
You'd vote Tequila Party
If you’d seen the sh*t I did with politicians
You should see the sh*t you’re missing
Mrs. After Hours…Mrs. Afterparty
Put ‘em both together
Light ‘em up and then give me a forty...
I said, b*tch, give me a forty
Curveball slinger Conway Twitty
Con-man got his gun, now I got you getting sh*tty
Can your old lady hold my money, Mr. Money Sacks?
How deep them pockets go?
You trying to f*ck with thugs and drug dealers
And live somebody else’s role?
I thought I did it all with motherf*ckers like you

He was five years younger than you
Middle finger up, riding with my little hippie
Another Philly and probably four more cold billies
Have some X, we’ll do some sex
She said, “What’s next?, I got a text.”
So, b*tch, you gone
Queen Michael on that wild sh*t
Queen Michael bought some vial sh*t
Take the dip, take the clip, B
What you ‘bout? Herb? That weed?
We got them trees
I’m on them Xan’s
I got them Vans
b*tch…you ‘bout to get that pus*y snuck
I mean hit…knocked out
That life? Queen Michael clout
Whatchu ‘bout?
On the way to the Big Dippy, in the stars
I’m going straight to f*cking Mars, gettin’ trippy
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