It seems nowadays friends step to me bogus
|
and end up on my couch at night without notice
|
it's cool to have a friend over every now and then
|
but I gotta have my space
|
and I don't wanna see their face
|
like every single day of the week
|
talk is cheap
|
you betta find yourself another place to sleep
|
it ain't my fault that ya moms got fed up
|
and now you wanna come to my crib and wet my bed up
|
you better find a job so you can get an apartment
|
and you can save your crocodile tears
|
don't even start
|
with the sob stories
|
I got enough from the other seven brothas
|
in the den playin' Genesis
|
damn I can't win at this
|
seems like I'm gonna have to flip
|
and tell those other brothas
|
that they're gonna have to skip
|
I've had it up to here with these lazy cats
|
sleepin' on my couch and I'm tired of that
|
[Chorus]
|
People come to my house
|
and kinda wonder where the squadron's at
|
they're not gone
|
they're just down at the laundrymat
|
because they wear the same pairs of clothing
|
I'm taking up crazy patience just holding
|
my temper
|
I'm about to start charging rent for
|
every single brother
|
that kicked it with my mother eating biscuits
|
on Saturday morning like a family
|
the minute they step
|
it's like moms is crazy mad at me
|
'cause they're in my mother's room watching television
|
I feel like giving 'em the boot
|
and say the hell with 'em
|
but if I give 'em the boot
|
I'm not a friend though
|
even though my room
|
smells like dime bags of indo but
|
I can't pretend like I haven't been peepin' it
|
even mom knows that my brothas been sleepin'
|
on my couch for weeks
|
so your speeches fall flat
|
sleepin' on my couch and I'm tired of that
|
[Chorus]
|
Maybe this was just my upbringing perhaps
|
but I was taught that I shouldn't
|
take seven day naps
|
at other brothas' cribs like I don't have a home
|
brothas on my couch so much there's like foam
|
coming out the seams
|
and a pair of jeans is missing from my closet
|
I wonder why I even bother being friendly
|
they're running my ass like the Indy 5000
|
they went and wrinkled my mother's blouse
|
when they snuck downstairs
|
for a midnight snack
|
and ate the last slice of bread
|
and a box of apple jacks
|
then they hit the sack
|
with the stereo blastin'
|
and even little Tyson is fed up
|
so I'm askin'
|
you all to jet
|
before I get upset
|
and throw each and every one
|
of you bums out on your back
|
my house is a mess
|
so step ya little pest
|
who was sleepin' on my couch 'cause I'm tired of that
|
[Chorus]
|
|
-----------------
|
Sleepin' On My Couch
|
Del The Funky Homosapien |