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I Regret Everything
2008


Rotten Melons
2004


I Started the Fire
2002


SHITTY FAILURES
1999 - present


I REGRET EVERYTHING (2008)
01 Let's Be Vague
02 The Forecast
03 Columbia, MO
04 Mom, I'm Home
05 Possible Improvements for the Human Body
06 Tsunami
07 Sister Act
08 American Songwriter
09 Just Lie Still
10 Life is Too Short
11 The Saddest Story Ever Told
12 Fuck You Dreams
13 Lawrence
14 My Big Balloon
15 Negative Norman
16 Priorities
17 So Humble, So Strong
18 Fortune & Glory
19 Southerner Without His Accent
20 Untitled
Look at all deeze white girls, thinking they be black girls
They ain’t got this ass, this ass, this ass
They ass it look like plywood, up against my ghetto goods
They cain’t shake this ass, this fast, this fast
You ain’t got no Jelly Jar, Jelly Jar, Jelly Jar
Look at that ass, look at that ass, it ain’t nothing but mayonnaise

Hellman’s, Blue Plate, Miracle Whip,
Rip and Unzip until you’re stripped
You Flip, I drip, then bite my lip,
then grip your hip and sink my ship
I’ll thump and bump your big round rump,
until I dunk my ittie-bittie junk
I’ll drink, get drunk, You’ll stink, get stunk,
Then dry-hump to the ultra crunk funk
You see I move fast, I just wanna blast ass,
yours in particular – it’s the forecast

Grind that ass, I wanna grind that ass
Spit-Shine that ass, Spit-Shine that ass
Mine that ass, I wanna mine that ass
Find that ass, I wanna find that ass

I’m gonna shoot the shots until I’m shot,
Or maybe not if your hot knot squats
If you crouch upon my couch,
I won’t slouch up in your pouch
I’ll pound your mound, compound your brown,
Go round-n-round in your underground
But rub-a-dub-dub I’m just an old thug,
with a semi-solid stub hanging in the nite club
Let’s leave the club, grab some grub,
jump in the tub, make love to my sub
I’ll pounce and bounce on every ounce,
I want what counts in large amounts

Grind that ass, I wanna grind that ass
Spit-Shine that ass, Spit-Shine that ass
Mine that ass, I wanna mine that ass
Find that ass, I wanna find that ass

Now I gotta fight off those clubbing bunches,
Cause you paralyze me with those haunches
I’m willing to throw some hella punches,
An put every nigga up on some crutches
Cause I’m the nigga who’s buyin’ you lunches,
I’m the nigga who gets your touches
Don’t you grind that perfection in their direction,
they don’t deserve your sweet selection
You don’t need no erection collection,
Why can’t you settle for my love and affection?
This interjection is for your protection,
to save myself from rump rejection

Grind that ass, I wanna grind that ass (whoo-ha)
Spit-Shine that ass, Spit-Shine that ass (ha-ha)
Mine that ass, I wanna mine that ass (whoo-ha)
Find that ass, I wanna find that ass (ha-ha)

I’m bored – let’s wrap it up

I’ll thump and bump your big round rump,
until I dunk my ittie-bittie junk
I’ll drink, get drunk, You’ll stink, get stunk,
Then dry-hump to the ultra crunk funk
You see I move fast, I just wanna blast ass,
yours in particular - it’s the forecast

© FRANK REED RECORDS 2008