Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Onative
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Onative
Songwriter
Dean Sultanov
Songwriter
Lyrics
You got me high off a pill
Now you got me thinking I will die if I will take another hit what are we doing?
This ain't right but feels so raw
All of my friends and all of their friends are knocking on the door
But we
But we are off the top
Fuck me fuck me
It's freezing hot
I ain't better on my own, better on my own nah
This will be your home, this will be your home now
You might be the one I need
Even if I didn't believe
Love is real, cause it weak right before you baby
Now I'm hearing all these symphonies
Choking up my misery
Why does this feel bittersweet?
Tell me we won't die
Damn your eyes look so pretty when you're buzzed on the floor
And you know the whole city's getting high on the low
Don't you trip if you start hearing all the knocks on the door
Cause you know the whole Petersburg is high on the low
Petersburg high
Petersburg high
6 Hours passed and I still feel like I'm the king
Your mouth is dry, I felt it when I licked your lips
Just stay right here and I'll be back with stolen drinks
As long as you promise me there's more to sniff
But we
But we, we never learn
Fuck me fuck me
I'm not concerned
I ain't better on my own, better on my own nah
This will be your home, this will be your home now
You might be the one I need
Even if I didn't believe
Love is real, cause it weak right before you baby now
I'm hearing all these symphonies
Choking up my misery
Why does this feel bittersweet?
Tell me we won't die
Damn your eyes look so pretty when you're buzzed on the floor
And you know the whole city's getting high on the low
Don't you trip if you start hearing all the knocks on the door
Cause you know the whole Petersburg is high on the low
Damn your eyes look so pretty when you're buzzed on the floor
And you know the whole city's getting high on the low
Don't you trip if you start hearing all the knocks on the door
Cause you know the whole Petersburg is high on the low
Do me a favor, don't talk
My conscious is turned off
I might flip, I might cause the shit that makes you feel lost
You shouldn't fuck with a man who traded himself for grams
Who's sabotaged his own plans
Get away get away
Nobody told me it'd feel like this
No one said soda would taste like piss
Every voice like a cerpents hiss
Clock that is ticking reloads like clips
Songs sound like sirens
Even when it's quite there's no silence
Cause hobo in me turns fucking wild and he knows the place where I'm hiding
Writer(s): Dean Sultanov
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