Interested in Cryptocurrency?
Visit best CoinMarketCap alternative. Real time updates, cryptocurrency price prediction...

JOHNNY CASH lyrics - Ride This Train

Old Doc Brown

Original and similar lyrics
He was just an old country doctor in a little country town Fame and fortune had passed him by though we never saw him frown As day by day in his kindly way he'd serve us one and all Many a patient forgot to pay although Doc's fees were small Though he needed his dimes and there were times that he'd receive a fee He'd pass it onto some poor soul that needed it worse than he He had to sell his furniture couldn't pay his office rent So to a dusty room over a livery stable Doc Brown and his satchel went And on the hitchin' post at the kerb below to advertise his wares He nailed a little sign that read Doc Brown has moved upstairs There he kept on helping folks get well,for his heart was jus'pure gold, But anyone with eyes could see that Doc was gettin' old. Then one day he didn't answer when they knocked upon his door Old Doc Brown was layin' down but his soul was no more They found him there in that old black suit on his face was a smile of content But all the money they could find on him was a quarter and a copper cent So they opened up his ledger and what they saw gave their hearts a pull Beside each debtor's name old Doc had write these words Paid In Full Old Doc should had a funeral fine enough for a king It's a ghastly joke our town was broke and no one could give a thing 'Cept Jones an undertaker he did mighty well Donatin' an old iron casket he had never been able to sell And the funeral procession it wasn't much for grace and pomp and the style But those wagon loads of mourners they stretched out for more than a mile We wanted to give him a monument we kinda figured we owed him one Cause he made our town a better place for all the good he'd done We pulled up that old hitchin' post where Doc had nailed a sign We'd painted it white and to all of us it certainly did look fine Now the rains and the snows have washed away our white trimmin's of paint There ain't nothin' left but Doc's own sign and that's gettin' pretty faint But you can still see that old hitchin' post as if in answer to our prayers Mutely tellin' the whole wide world Doc Brown has moved upstairs


MIKE JONES "Ballin' Underground"
Mike Jones, Swishahouse.. 6:00 on the dot, got's to get paid Move stone for stone, can't go minimum wage Buy the home on hill, clothes out the cleaners Move 22 inches, on the X-Beamer Got's to look good, got's to look fresh Hopped out the shower, baguettes cross my chest 4-5 handy, Lamborgini candy In 21 years, I knocked down four grammy's I like to ride long, candy colors on cutters I know you can't believe it, but the inside is butter Pelly-Pel sagging then a wagon, kid's dragging I got more fire, than Bruce Lee the Dragon Me and T. Clarence, hopped in the Hummer Where is Lil' Walty, where is the Hummer Back on a mission, Expedition flipping You stacked up some cash, don't stop keep flipping Where is T. Flowers, where is Jamal I got fo' freaks, so let's start a freak party Gin and Bacardi, play em like Atari It's just in my nature, that Mike Jones is hardy Red Boy from Rap-A-Lot, I see you coming through In the Escalade, on 22's Wearing FUBU, maybe J. Prince I've been putting it down, for H-Town ever since Scarface first came, came to bring pain Got a purple dropping screens, call it purple rain Mike Jones mayn, I claim North mayn You can have the fame, just give me the change Freestyle off the mind, bumper kit recline Keep in mine, you don't grind you don't shine I say that verse a lot, just to let you boys know You gotta plant the seed, if you want the plant to grow Now I'm plexing in the Lexus, police.. You test me, I'll be in your ... like a wedgie What's up to the Twinz, that's in the A-Town We Gon show you boys, that Swishahouse put it down State to state town to town, hit the stage we gon clown When I show we talking bout em grill, they gon frown Me and the Mad, flipping Gator flipping Jag My Grandma got on me, when I sag Saginng my jeans, brother sixteen Where is the do-do, where is the lean I feel pretty good, I just bought the yellow Gator I through Sprewells, on the blue Navigator It's the Mike Jones, freestyling from the dome I might come through, Yellowstone, Acres Home Riding in my drop top, chilling with the Watts When I hit the stage, I'ma give it all I got Michael Watts chopping, rag tops dropping Girls who didn't cut for me befo', they bopping Where is the pride, where is the pull My album, Who Is Mike Jones coming soon Hold up don't worry, put a lighter up the room Watch me sweep chasers, without using a broom If you wanna see me flow, book me for a show And you'll see, me and Magno go Man I'm freestyling again, spinning it's a sin Three for the ten, off a 5 or 6-10 That's a freeway, Northside Southside we ride blue and grey We might ride red, watch us turn heads Quit all the plexing, and start stacking bread No time to tell you boys to grind, if you wanna shine It's the boy Mike Jones, putting it down

A Boy Named Sue

Cash Johnny "Sings His 20 Best"
Well, my daddy left home when I was three, and he didn't leave much to ma and me, Just this ole guitar and an empty bottle of booze. Now I don't blame him 'cause he run and hid, But the meanest thing that he ever did, Was before he left he went and named me Sue. Well, he musta thought that it was quite a joke, An' it got a lot of laughs from lots a folks, Seems I had to fight my whole life through. Some gal would giggle and I'd get red, And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head, I'll tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue. I grew up quick and I grew up mean, My fist got hard and my wits got keen, I roamed from town to town to hid my shame. But I made me a vow to the moon and stars, I'd search the honky-tonks and bars, And kill that man that gave me that awful name. Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July, and i'd just hit town and my throat was dry, thought I'd stop and have myself a brew. In and old saloon on a street of mud, There at a table dealin' stud, Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me Sue. Well I knew that snake was my own sweet dad, from a worn out picture that my mother had, and I knew that scar on his cheek his evil eye. He was big and bent and grey and old, And I looked at him and my blood ran cold, and I said, My name is Sue! how do you do! Now you gonna die! Yeah that's what I told him. Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes, And he went down but to my surprise, Come up with a knife a cut off a piece o' my ear. I busted a chair right across his teeth, And we crashed through the wall and into the street, Kickin' and a gougin' in the the mud and the blood and the beer. I tell you I've fought tougher men, but I really can't remember when, he kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile. Well I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss, He went for his gun but I pulled mine first, He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile. And he said, Son, this world is rough, And if a man's gonna make it he's gotta be tough, And I know I wouldn't be there to help you along. So I gave that name and I said goodbye, I knew you'd have to get tough or die, And it's that name that helped to make you strong. Now you just fought one hell of a fight, And I know you hate me and ya got the right, To kill me now and I wouldn't blame you if you do. But you oughtta thank me before I die, For the gravel in your gut and the spit in your eye, 'Cause I'm the son of a bitch that named you Sue. yeah, what could I do, what COULD I do? Well I got a choked up and threw down my gun, Called him a pa and he called me a son, And I come away with a different point of view. I think about him now and then, Every time I try and every time I win, And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him, Bill or George anything but Sue! I still hate that name!

Post Up In The Parkin Lot

Sky Skrapin Entertainment [Chorus:] I don't... I don't need your VIP I'll post up in the parkin' lot. Post up in the parkin' lot Post up in the parkin' lot [x4] [J. Cash:] Rider lookin so clean Chevy lookin so mean Sittin on some colored glass Like a bottle of some Sobe I'm at the club you know me White Tee and Chuck Taylors LA hat is to the back The bouncers bein straight haters Tellin me I can't come in I gotta meet the dress code But I don't do that silk shit These dudes lookin like straight hoes Gotta have a collared shirt Naw homie I hate those Said, "well those the rules" so bump that homie I'm a break those Chevy with the Lambo doors and it got the popped trunk Black and white paint job air brushed sayin "GOT DONKS? " Speakers bumpin Lil' Boosie tellin me to swerve on em Everybody goin wild parkin on the curb on em Standin on the roof of the brand new Escalade I don't need no VIP cause I'm already playa made And I don't want nobody tellin me what I can and can't do So I'm a post up in the parkin' lot and act a straight fool [Chorus x4] [Calliko:] (I bring the party to ME!) I refuse to take my fitted off and spend up on the cover charge I ain't puttin on no button up to get up in the club at all I sip until my cup is gone, Smoke until the butt is off, and Post up in the parkin' lot and wait up on the club to close I can't get up in VIP, I ain't showin no ID But I brought all the Shawtys so I'm a bring the party straight to me They hate to see me pullin up The speakers poundin' loud as fuck Roundin up they chicks cause they insist on ridin out with us They wanna see ferreal that's straight Hope off in the Chevrolet I tell em bring they friends and let em know that we got extra space Them bitches hate then let em hate Don't feed into they jealousy They made cause you in the position that they'll never be So let em be, make yourself at home up on these leather seats Together we can roll out and just zone out to this melody Sky Skrapin Entertainment, hooked up with them 80's babies You can't be in the parkin' lot without hearin somebody sayin... [Chorus x4] [Jon Young:] Ay I don't need a club to meet hoes So what I gotta dress up for? I'm here to throw some fuckin bows And act a fool with my folks They playin trap shit but scared to let the trappers in It's packed in with fake cats So why I wanna chill with them? I'd rather post up in the parkin' lot and let loose Got that king kong in the trunk, bangin them raw tunes There ain't no cover charge There ain't no dress code The chick still shakin that ass man it's a free show Donk riders in they whips show stoppin Got the folks standin in line, starin and whatchin Even got the Reaggeton chicks turnin heads Got they mans all heated I can see em turnin red Man fuck VIP it's a waste if you ask me You blowin hunnies just to get up in some hoes jeans? Shit I could get a chick walkin down the block bitch It don't need your VIP I'll post up in the lot bitch! [Chorus x4]

The Life

KURUPT "Kuruption"
(Kurupt El Drex) Ach, ka-nelk, ka-chica, ka-dick Sub Drex (uh yeah, one two) Mmm, haha, yeah we headed up there baby Sky's the limit(yeah) Way up in the sky Once in a lifetime You only get one chance, one chance (You like that shit) One chance to dance And then it's over Kurupt: Check it, from catchin buses and cabs Pen and pads in the lav Sippin genuine drafts and no cash I ain't the first and I'll be damned if I'm the last Roosevelt drive, clay courts from Cliffs to AZ El Drex: Aiyyo wassup how you feel Me I'm chill But I'm still tryin to make a mill Inside Sharon Hill From where I stand I see it's time to expand To foreign lands for hundreds of grands and white sands Kurupt: You know it's about that time Niggaz set and prepare your rhymes Start off and a little after nine, bump n grind Sexual, young intellectual With a whole lot of life to live, just a child El Drex: It's 2-5-2-5 little town of shit You can call a Sharon Hill and a dogg be town shit I wouldn't break bad if you come from out of town Cuz I'm down by law and I'm from Tha Deuce Pound Chorus: Having to survive living in the life Got to stay alive living in the life Have to survive Living in the life El Drex: Yo, so how you want it, you want silence or violence Plus, me and my crew shine like the N on New Balance The most talent where girls fly They hopin champagne gets pop and it don't stop These jealous cat cut G's keroodle with top We can cruise the city block like yachts Y'all niggaz worse than the cops Kurupt: Before I smoke, I tote my first tote A fool or here sneakin young bulls red bulls Me K-I-D, the elite MC From the hill, got my top chopped by a tree On the hill, too young to flare one It's all about rhymes and fair ones Show me the mic and bust like a flair gun Don't shove me or push me, I give sucka punches Now what's the deal El Drex: You sucka cats be wildin and wanna fool now And pull the tool now Why can't we keep it on the cool now I make a new route to get my crew out My peeps no doubt And then when school out, it probably when the album's due out And when you see me, the cream from my pocket ooze out Forever player and winner and never lose out Kurupt (El Drex): Tell me do you remember (Yeah, I remember back when) When Conway Park (Yeah, I remember back then) Sneakin in the firehouse, the fun begins (Next week, instead of then) And I'm be sneakin again See back in the day, it was all about flows Coolin out the T-la rock and mic stroll I go next door to see my nigga Man Bang Sneak in the basement, couple sips of Ing Bing I feel all right, I could rock all night No plots and schemes, just million dollar dreams Money like a mothafucka Homie gimme mine's paid I come stompin like a parade, the escapade Psychotic anolyisis as I consume a whole carton of mushrooms We clear sight, the day lights like the night A closet full of Franklin's, a G's paradise A nice 40 ounce of O-E on ice Precise poetical poltergeist on mics El Drex: Well, it's the El baby, baby The El baby baby The one that rocks you so well baby baby Many brains I feed, another thought conceive Yes indeed Drex ya heed will make yo body bleed The intellectual seed, knowledge be growin like weeds Money stash from crack, you can't determine the speed I'm a rap fiend, they gleams like the head of Carene I'm extreme but never fade like acid jeans, I mean I see more green than builders, feel this dilga enthrill ya Stay tough like armadilgas and that's on the for real-a Pop dukes will call me killer casualties with ease The world will spend a million G's savin dyin MC's Now you got mad love for Shahi Raffi I'm in knee deep and peace the bull and meet me Kurupt: To my nigga Kel El, Escoball, what all up in this piece Chorus: (to end with Kurupt talking) El Drex: 2-5-2-5 little town of shit You can call a Sharon Hill and a dogg be town shit I wouldn't break bad if you come from out of town Cuz I'm down by law and I'm from Tha Deuce Pound Deuce Pound Deuce Pound Deuce Pound Deuce Pound A town with no recreation And when we grab the mic We formally rock the nation

Southern California Wants To Be Western New York

Dar Williams "Mortal City"
There's a part of the country could drop off tomorrow in an earthquake, Yeah it's out there on the cutting edge, the people move, the sidwalks shake. And there's another part of the country with a land that gently creaks and thuds, Where the heavy snows make faucets leak in bathrooms with free-standing tubs. They're in houses that are haunted, the with kids who lie awake and think about All the generations past who used to use that dripping sink. And sometimes one place wants to slip into the other just to see What it's like to trade its demons for the restless ghost of Mrs. Ogilvey, She used to pick the mint from her front yard to dress the Sunday pork, Sometimes southern California wants to be western New York. It wants to have a family business in sheet metal or power tools, It wants to have a diner where the coffee tastes like diesel fuel, And it wants to find the glory of a town they say has hit the skids, And it wants to have a snow day that will turn its parents into kids, And it's embarrassed, but it's lusting after a SUNY student with mousy brown hair who is Taking out the compost, making coffee in long underwear. And southern California says to save a place, I'll meet you there, And it tried to pack up its Miata, all it could fit was a prayer, Sometimes the stakes are bogus, sometimes the fast lane hits a fork, Sometimes southern California wants to be western New York. Tempe, Arizona thinks the Everglades are greener and wetter, And Washington, D. C. thinks that Atlanta integrated better, But I think that southern California has more pain that we can say, Cause it wants to travel back in time, but it just can't leave L. A. But now I hear they've got a theme park planned, designed to make you gasp and say, Oh, I bet that crumbling mill town was a booming mill town in its day, And the old investors scoff at this, but the young ones hope they'll take a chance, And they promise it will make more dough than Mickey Mouse in northern France, And the planners planned an opening day, a town historian will host, And the waitresses look like waitresses who want to leave for the west coast. And they'll have puttering on rainy weekends, autumn days that make you feel sad, They'll have hundred year old plumbing and the family you never had, And a Hudson River clean-up concert and a bundle-bearing stork, And I hear they've got a menu planned, it's trés western New York.

Was it funny? Share it with friends!