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letra de driver - private island

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it must be the year of the dead horse
you keep beating my head against the wall
guess december is for talking sh-t
like you’re not where you always been

we divide ourselves
our spines turned into gel

i overthink ‘til i’m sick
good times run quick
this sh-t on my mind
placed there by design
the sand in my eyes
i’m distracted again
1-800-n-my-head

watching mins fly by like billboards
from the backseat they blur into one
i guess time and monеy really are the samе sh-t
if time is money i ain’t made sh-t

this pace can’t be good for health
my bones turned into gel

another fool
another rouse
just fool yah
snake eyes they staring at the side of my neck

snake eyes are weighted. i keep rolling for what?

- private island

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