England v. 3
C.D.V.S.S. Lyrics

Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire
Wildfire Wildfire
Now you listen here, Jeffrey, and you listen real good
Why did you take, why'd you take my-my baguettes
From my bakery?
You know-you know I-I-I
I was reasonable
I was reasonable
I was reasonable
And, and, and I made it so I didn't call the police on you but I really need to tell me
Why the fuck
You would steal my baguettes from my bakery
Don't strum your fucking lute at me
Don't strum your goddamn lute at me, all right?
What was that?
What was that?
Oh you can't speak so you speak Morse Code in your guitar
Did you just quack at me?
What are you a fucking duck?
I can't believe you
Brum-brum-brum, beep boop-boop beep
9/11 is coming
And they're gonna arrest you
How about that? How do you feel about that?
You fucking suit-plaid wearing dancin man
Do you know my family
Always talks about that time
You hung-hung up that short man in my basement
To die (I thought you were gonna say the time he hung himself)
Alright let's go
Let-drop a beat
No you dr-drop a beat, get that
It's not-it's not
It's not Connecticut without a sick beat drop
Got these fraps on the clock, got
To stop, stop, stop
Gotta go, gotta get an afro
Gotta go to the
Gotta go to the club with my afro, new, on my head
Gotta go to the club, gotta go to a pub
Gotta get real drunk, get real crunk
Then put it in a junk, I got to words for you
And those two words are
Fuck
You
I've got a car, I've got a bar
I've got a car, I've got a bar
Don't fuck with me
My life is more put together
Don't fuck with me
I have 24 kids in my ribcage, they
All come out like seahorse children
I am a male seahorse
With human gills and legs
Imagine a seahorse with manly muscles
He's gotta get on the hustle and take on the crutches
He's got too many seamen comin up, not
Cum, just people who are sailors, they're
Comin up on his castle, he's gotta fight em off
He's only got sharp claws and a dagger
This bitch is comin up