Ghettosocks, Full Course, Loe Pesci - Poutine lyrics

"Get me some fucking poutine"

"Boo please, I'm begging for poutine"
"Whose steeze melts a track oh so gooey?"
"Count- Count Sockula"
"Look, I'm not joking around" "my hoodie on
And said I'm out for treats" "Boo please
I'm begging for poutine
Pou- pou-pou-pou-poutine"
"Look, I'm not joking around"
"whose- whose-whose steeze
Melts a track oh so gooey?"

It's the prince of poutine, Count Sockula
Nosferatu hitting chip wagons while you
Chickens pop a capsule
Cap the god, what the fuck'll that do?
I'll leave you teary like the Fresh Prince
When he bought his pops a statue
Forest scavenger
Force alone'll floor your manager
Formulated a plan to tore the planet up but
I'm at the ranch with a horny
Amateur, getting rode reverse cowgirl
Listening to Boards of Canada
I tour to Panama, for the T-shirt
Always been the type to ask
Questions last skeet first
Trolling out on eBay, won myself a threeway
Me Kreayshawn and a bichon frise, huh
And y'all ain't doing shit
Like it's shomer Shabbos
I'm 'bout to get dough
Nuts like Homer's habit
Out for treats was a selfish cause
But, I rep the crown and
Jewel of la belle province dig it

Ain't a new thing, peep how we do things
We keep stepping in kicks, marked 23
Stinkfacing DJs dropping Juicy
In the club posting it up, with a poutine
Ain't a new thing, peep how we do things
We keep stepping in kicks, marked 23
Stinkfacing DJs dropping Juicy
In the club posting it up, with a poutine

Have a ball with like four to five bitches
Quebec bag glorified Mordecai Richlers
Quarterbagging cotton in the court
Of malt liquor fuck a fortified liver
Get immortalized quicker
I'm borderline twisted off
The orange-lime sizzurp fuck a super molly
You could pop a porcupine with it
Think it's all gravy on the
Corner when the grease burst
Hear the wheels squeak like teeth
Just hit a cheese curd back we do not pedal
Stay holey my socks ghetto
Always do my vocals high
That is not a falsetto
When the big man come home
Of course the party over
Even the playing field
Kick ya' porta-potty over
The drunk Bugatti owner
When the beast 'round
Always hold my homie close
I'm known to hold them keys down
Trained jazz pianist, straight Bran Van'ing
Drinking in LA, now that ain't bad planning

Ain't a new thing, peep how we do things
We keep stepping in kicks, marked 23
Stinkfacing DJs dropping Juicy
In the club posting it up, with a poutine
Ain't a new thing, peep how we do things
We keep stepping in kicks, marked 23
Stinkfacing DJs dropping Juicy
In the club posting it up, with a poutine

I, won't, give up 'cause
Heaven's watching, who, is gonna judge me?
Originals are rare in the era of carbon copy
Kids are running scared, unaware
Of what is coming went from popping beat
To popping tags to popping mollies
It's true like no lament to my goons
I had to disconnect my phone so
They would leave me alone
Just down the road and got lost outta sight
But was told keep trucking
Like I'm Optimus Prime
If he died, be like Rodimus, how is it
Possible to not adjust
To the underhanded curds being
I was not impressed
If anybody dares to bean me
When I'm up to bat
They'll see turn my back on
World peace like Ron Artest
I lay you out with ease, formatted
Lay you out in front of ya' house, doormat'ed
See me, I'm current and currently
You're static
Soon to be on top of this game, in your attic
Till then

Ain't a new thing, peep how we do things
We keep stepping in kicks, marked 23
Stinkfacing DJs dropping Juicy
In the club posting it up, with a poutine
Ain't a new thing, peep how we do things
We keep stepping in kicks, marked 23
Stinkfacing DJs dropping Juicy
In the club posting it up, with a poutine

"Boo please, I'm begging for poutine"
"Whose steeze melts a track oh so gooey?"
"Count- Count Sockula"
"Look, I'm not joking around" "my hoodie on
And said I'm out for treats" "Boo please
I'm begging for poutine
Pou- pou-pou-pou-poutine"
"Look, I'm not joking around"
"whose- whose-whose steeze
Melts a track oh so gooey?"