ooo ooo Ahhh Ahhhh Gentlemen Turn off your recorders I can hear them buzzin' From inside of you're tracksuits Got to get To California Where
vuoi fra, California o Milano? priorita qua cash nella mano, stupefa fa, quello che abbiamo, spingo cosi forte che mi dicono: Fai piano (Gue Pequeno
a friend Put a dime in a pay phone And now I'm feeling all the pain that i could Behind this broken down piano At the back of this bar So this is california
day that i ain't got the upper hand I'm respected from californ.i.a. way down to japan I'm a real producer and you just the piano man Your song gonna
i ain't got the upper hand I'm respected from californ.i.a. way down to japan I'm a real producer and you just the piano man Your song gonna top the
I'm prayin' for rain in California so the grapes can grow and they can make more wine And I'm a sittin' in a honky in Chicago with a broken heart and
still sniffin' blow Nose runnin' on time with green slime Step in the club, I throw urine on your mind Big Luciano, diamond rings on the grand piano
a couple grand-d-d Never gonna see the day that I ain't got the upper hand I'm respected from California way down to Japan I'm a real producer and you just the piano
-d-d-d never gonna see the day that I ain't got the upper hand I'm respected from californ.i.a. way down to japan I'm a real producer and you just the piano
couple grand-d-d-d-d never gonna see the day that I ain't got the upper hand I'm respected from californ.i.a. way down to japan I'm a real producer and you just the piano
that green light baby I got to keep movin' on Well, I might go out to California Might go down to Georgia, I don't know Oh, I'd really [Incomprehensible] on the piano
anthology And when I'm done, don't expect no apology Stupid motherfuckers shoulda stepped when I warned 'em I'm from the Boondocks of Compton, California
Fuck a rapper, my clapper black as Muhammadiya Fuck you R&B bitches, shut up! You not Aaliyah (Ha ha!) When Mr. Porter record a piano Producers may wanna order some ammo I'm a California
I will not lie to you Gentlemen turn off your recorders I can hear them buzzin' from inside of you're tracksuits Got to get to California Where this
up the white lines, makin? good time Diggin? the songs on the radio And that party kept a movin? and you know what we were doin? We were smokin? up that California
Playing piano in that pink hotel just like you said I would I kept looking out my window hoping one day you would come Going every shade of blue under that California
G's upon the table Rattle they brain with hurricane, have 'em seeing thangs feeling strange 2 boss players straight running thangs I learn to knock 'em down and with the piano
in like wolfman jack I'm bringing in the swing like ching a-ling a-ling Guaranteed to rock and make the microphone sing I combine funk with a make-a-monk piano