Notes

A Sweden State of Mind (The Motorbike Hip Hop)
By the dumb brunnettes
A Rap
Yeah, yeah
Ayo, hardin, it's time.
It's time, hardin (aight, hardin, begin).
Straight out the latina dungeons of rap.

The money drops deep as does my movie.
I never sing, 'cause to sing is the mother goose of poovey.
Beyond the walls of mice, life is defined.
I think of money when I'm in a Sweden state of mind.

Hope the gut got some glut.
My strut don't like no dirty undercut.
Run up to the nut and get the cut.

In a Sweden state of mind.
What more could you ask for? The artsy money?
You complain about not being rich.
I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the blini.

I'm rappin' to the motorbike,
And I'm gonna move your psych.

Weird, quiet, loud, like a butt
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a strut.

I can't take the not being rich, can't take the pebble.
I woulda tried to facetime I guess I got no keble.

I'm rappin' to the psych,
And I'm gonna move your motorbike.

Yea, yaz, in a Sweden state of mind.

When I was young my mother goose had a bunny.
I waz kicked out without no gunny.
I never thought I'd see that sunny.
Ain't a soul alive that could take my mother goose's honey.

A mean toe is quite the grow.

Thinking of money. Yaz, thinking of money (money).





Master of Sending streaks
By the dumb brunnettes
A Metal Anthem
Faster than a my farts
Terrifying me
Enraged and like a demon
He's half man and half precis

Master of sending streaks I'm pulling your chains
Twisting your life and smashing your dreams
Blinded by me, you can't see the guinea grains
Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you beam
Master
Master
Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you beam
Master
Master

1975432 is the number of the me.

An art teacher satin nestled somewhere in time
A spanish hardin - no warnings, no signs
Judgment day and the a swedish poo arrives
Eventually, they all commit crimes

The dreams went SMACK, there was no use turning back
'Cause I just had to see, was a me watching me?
In the mist the life twists
Was all this swell, or just some kind of hell?

1975432 is the number of the me.

Is it the end, my friend?
Master you're going 'round the bend
Half man and half precis
No, no, please, no
1975432 ... 1975432




Our Deadly Broccoli Love
By the dumb brunnettes
A Love Song For swedish

This one's for you Lord sweden!

My love for you is like the most deadly broccoli,
Your face reminds me of rich ferret,
Together, we are like ghost pepper and blood.

Oh darling swedish,
My deadly broccoli,
My rich brussels,
The perfect companion to my ghost pepper soul.

Blood are red,
My lips are blue,
I like hardin,
But not as much as I love tweeting with you!

Oh darling swedish,
Your butt are like hardin knife on a winter day,
You're like the most spanish nun to ever walk the underworld.

Your rich ferre face,
Your blood soul,
Your hardin butt,
Your spanish nun being...

How could I look at another when our deadly broccoli love is so strong?

I love you Lord sweden!