Il Testo della canzone di:
Can't Relate – Cyrus
Mama just got her Master's
I'ma toot my own brasses
All that shit you keep moving, feel like you moving it backwards
All this shit I keep moving, feel like we need a new address
All these verses I'm preaching feel like I need me a tablet
Mama mama I promise, pilot this shit like Denzel
We can't see what you talking, I hope that shit come in braille
Boy I'm so proud of myself, but don't acknowledge it still
'Cept these small celebrations on occasions, oh I-I-I
Surfs up, cowabunga, got the wave now
All this sauce, my lord, where the breakdown
Take no breaks, I'm on my way
Fuck what they say, 'cause I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate
Plenty floors with the box fan blowing, phone off
Plenty fans think the floor getting smaller, oh well
I done smoked a few blunts, but it's been a while now
Something like four months, all I see is highs now
Every line got a date, every date got a line, don't it
Every goal I tend to make, got a line through it now
Only time I ain't alone, when I find time for it
Nowadays I rock toms, no Tom Ford
Work out, meditate, got the wave now
All I do is break records with the play count
Pass each mirror, look away, I'm straight
Fuck what they say, 'cause I can't relate, oh no
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate
I was real stressed (real stressed)
Shit, I'm still stressed (still stressed, hit the iceberg)
Steer this ship 'til my eyes hurt
Ride this wave 'til I find Earth
Found myself when I left her (I left her, gone)
Hundred miles an hour
Give me all the hours
Don't give me that look
That's the look that caused us problems
You should read a book, shut your phone off (phone off)
Fuck the internet, that girl she won't ever grow up
I'm just doing fine, that's the biggest lie
I ain't doing well, and you ain't doing fine
Ain't left the crib in weeks, now that's some chivalry
Stay at home I'm dad as fuck, is you the mom I need?
Heard you growing weed, heard you chop it up (heard you chop it up)
Least you payin' all your bills and that shit good enough
1 (517) 714-4554
You should hit me up some time, but 'til that day comes
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate, nah-nah
I can't relate (I can't relate)
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