[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
[Verse 1: Hunter]
Up the creek without a paddle but we got Funkoars
Where's my beer? C*nt we drunk yours!
Sons of wars, I'm breaking tons of laws
It's f*cking Hunts of course putting runs on the board
Like Langer at a test match, I'm taking the best catch
I check out the face, the tits, and then snatch
I always wear a rubber so the eggs don't hatch
I needed some funk and Oar's had a new batch
I scored well for it and got amphetimized
Then crossed the Nullarbor to hang with Certified Wise
Losing sanity on a thirty hour drive
Hip hop's the only reason that I'm still alive
[Verse 2: Trials]
I'm that dude in the back of the club, slashed like f*ck
With my head nearly touching my gut, throwing shit up
It's the Oars of funk and we just started getting drunk
Blowing chunks, hooded up like a Gregorian Monk
The Funkorian's buff so keep rubbing if you're feeling me
Mr T, fat enough to claim a disability
Ain't a cat alive dumb enough to test us
I serve you the two round two through John Edwards
My style is wrecking mics and stylists
My rhyme moves the hearts of tarts like Saconian diamonds
These tracks turn heads like Linda Blair naked
I say a lot of dumb shit but never try to take it back
Like a face lift, mistaken if you fake it
Face it, we rock the place like sumo weigh ins
We rock spots like chicken pox and savages
Massacres, breaking shit down like bad marriages
[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
(And what if Hons was one of us?)
[Verse 3: Hons]
Well there then we'd have a world full of perverts and verse plus beat precision
Hons will pull your car like a f*cking street magician
Think that's dope? Well here's the best part
Raps are that fat my punchlines develop f*cking stretch marks
It's the Oars and Hunter
Full of drunk mother f*ckers, down the pints 'til we chunder
Sucker, we bust through and crush crews
The Funkoars get rotation like we released a bus loop
Sketchy Hons a certified trend setter
Never sell out cause underground groupies give head better
So make way for the mad sketchy c*nt
I'm the type of guy that buys a sports car just to f*ck a empty[? ] slut
I'll test your luck when I'm gripping a mic
And I ain't a fan of red so paint your town Certified
[Verse 4: Sesta]
Never brag, never had to
Never boast cause I know the show is over once we get off the stage
Between me and the bar and then you best get out the way
After a bottle of Johnny couldn't stop me
Putting the barricade of hottie boddies in line until they told me whether
I rap here or Perth, Melbourne or Sydney
Never rap for the attention, I'm here to get her tipsy
See, I'm gonna need a hand in Canberra and I don't even want to be able to stand up
Drunk with drinks and they're gone and hell will have to fill me like a sober Funkoar
Don't aim when I piss but I rap when I'm pissed
Slight laminated lyrics but I'm still able to rip it up
You need a lesson in rap, I'll show you how Oars keep it raw
Only sell out here's the crowd
[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
Funkoars - Still Drunk Lyrics
Funkoars - Still Drunk Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
[Verse 1: Hunter]
Up the creek without a paddle but we got Funkoars
Where's my beer? C*nt we drunk yours!
Sons of wars, I'm breaking tons of laws
It's f*cking Hunts of course putting runs on the board
Like Langer at a test match, I'm taking the best catch
I check out the face, the tits, and then snatch
I always wear a rubber so the eggs don't hatch
I needed some funk and Oar's had a new batch
I scored well for it and got amphetimized
Then crossed the Nullarbor to hang with Certified Wise
Losing sanity on a thirty hour drive
Hip hop's the only reason that I'm still alive
[Verse 2: Trials]
I'm that dude in the back of the club, slashed like f*ck
With my head nearly touching my gut, throwing shit up
It's the Oars of funk and we just started getting drunk
Blowing chunks, hooded up like a Gregorian Monk
The Funkorian's buff so keep rubbing if you're feeling me
Mr T, fat enough to claim a disability
Ain't a cat alive dumb enough to test us
I serve you the two round two through John Edwards
My style is wrecking mics and stylists
My rhyme moves the hearts of tarts like Saconian diamonds
These tracks turn heads like Linda Blair naked
I say a lot of dumb shit but never try to take it back
Like a face lift, mistaken if you fake it
Face it, we rock the place like sumo weigh ins
We rock spots like chicken pox and savages
Massacres, breaking shit down like bad marriages
[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
(And what if Hons was one of us?)
[Verse 3: Hons]
Well there then we'd have a world full of perverts and verse plus beat precision
Hons will pull your car like a f*cking street magician
Think that's dope? Well here's the best part
Raps are that fat my punchlines develop f*cking stretch marks
It's the Oars and Hunter
Full of drunk mother f*ckers, down the pints 'til we chunder
Sucker, we bust through and crush crews
The Funkoars get rotation like we released a bus loop
Sketchy Hons a certified trend setter
Never sell out cause underground groupies give head better
So make way for the mad sketchy c*nt
I'm the type of guy that buys a sports car just to f*ck a empty[? ] slut
I'll test your luck when I'm gripping a mic
And I ain't a fan of red so paint your town Certified
[Verse 4: Sesta]
Never brag, never had to
Never boast cause I know the show is over once we get off the stage
Between me and the bar and then you best get out the way
After a bottle of Johnny couldn't stop me
Putting the barricade of hottie boddies in line until they told me whether
I rap here or Perth, Melbourne or Sydney
Never rap for the attention, I'm here to get her tipsy
See, I'm gonna need a hand in Canberra and I don't even want to be able to stand up
Drunk with drinks and they're gone and hell will have to fill me like a sober Funkoar
Don't aim when I piss but I rap when I'm pissed
Slight laminated lyrics but I'm still able to rip it up
You need a lesson in rap, I'll show you how Oars keep it raw
Only sell out here's the crowd
[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
[Verse 1: Hunter]
Up the creek without a paddle but we got Funkoars
Where's my beer? C*nt we drunk yours!
Sons of wars, I'm breaking tons of laws
It's f*cking Hunts of course putting runs on the board
Like Langer at a test match, I'm taking the best catch
I check out the face, the tits, and then snatch
I always wear a rubber so the eggs don't hatch
I needed some funk and Oar's had a new batch
I scored well for it and got amphetimized
Then crossed the Nullarbor to hang with Certified Wise
Losing sanity on a thirty hour drive
Hip hop's the only reason that I'm still alive
[Verse 2: Trials]
I'm that dude in the back of the club, slashed like f*ck
With my head nearly touching my gut, throwing shit up
It's the Oars of funk and we just started getting drunk
Blowing chunks, hooded up like a Gregorian Monk
The Funkorian's buff so keep rubbing if you're feeling me
Mr T, fat enough to claim a disability
Ain't a cat alive dumb enough to test us
I serve you the two round two through John Edwards
My style is wrecking mics and stylists
My rhyme moves the hearts of tarts like Saconian diamonds
These tracks turn heads like Linda Blair naked
I say a lot of dumb shit but never try to take it back
Like a face lift, mistaken if you fake it
Face it, we rock the place like sumo weigh ins
We rock spots like chicken pox and savages
Massacres, breaking shit down like bad marriages
[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"
(And what if Hons was one of us?)
[Verse 3: Hons]
Well there then we'd have a world full of perverts and verse plus beat precision
Hons will pull your car like a f*cking street magician
Think that's dope? Well here's the best part
Raps are that fat my punchlines develop f*cking stretch marks
It's the Oars and Hunter
Full of drunk mother f*ckers, down the pints 'til we chunder
Sucker, we bust through and crush crews
The Funkoars get rotation like we released a bus loop
Sketchy Hons a certified trend setter
Never sell out cause underground groupies give head better
So make way for the mad sketchy c*nt
I'm the type of guy that buys a sports car just to f*ck a empty[? ] slut
I'll test your luck when I'm gripping a mic
And I ain't a fan of red so paint your town Certified
[Verse 4: Sesta]
Never brag, never had to
Never boast cause I know the show is over once we get off the stage
Between me and the bar and then you best get out the way
After a bottle of Johnny couldn't stop me
Putting the barricade of hottie boddies in line until they told me whether
I rap here or Perth, Melbourne or Sydney
Never rap for the attention, I'm here to get her tipsy
See, I'm gonna need a hand in Canberra and I don't even want to be able to stand up
Drunk with drinks and they're gone and hell will have to fill me like a sober Funkoar
Don't aim when I piss but I rap when I'm pissed
Slight laminated lyrics but I'm still able to rip it up
You need a lesson in rap, I'll show you how Oars keep it raw
Only sell out here's the crowd
[Hook/Scratches:]
"Funkoars" "Drunk mother f*ckers"