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Piggly Wiggly - Lil' Son Jackson



     
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Piggly Wiggly Lyrics


Gotta go slow
Gotta go slowPig without wings
Is just another pig
And a prick that's not hard
Is just another dickOpen real wide and in goes my fist
Wasn't that just so delicious
Peddling backwards, great exercise
Monopoly's a way of life for someThat perfect car, the house, the pool
That fucking girl from high school
The spoon, the spoon
Oh, fucking christ, the spoonCutting lines
Oh god, it's finally time to party
Dirty (x8)Delivery, I'm fucking starving
Sounds good, let's get it going
Bury me up bread and a rocket
Expect no delaysTopsy turvy
Driving on the curvy
To the sounds ofMail boxes knocking over

Help my aim, oh please
In a search, maybe
Don't tell anyone where I beMy sticky situations
Hiding, I'm flying
I keep them
From youFucking motherfuckers
Fucking motherfuckerA pig without wings
Is just another pig
And a prick that's not hard
Is just another dickNickles and dimes and pennies count
That's like sixteen cents to go toward a blow job
Know you've all been there before,
Fell face first, god makes you fall from graceSick, up late, don't call me names
What's all this shit on my face
The spoon, the spoon
Oh, fucking christ, the spoonCutting lines
Oh god, it's finally time to party
Dirty (x8)Delivery, I'm fucking starving
Sounds good, let's get it going
Bury me up bread and a rocket
Expect no delaysTopsy turvy
Driving on the curvy
To the sounds ofMail boxes knocking over
Help my aim, oh please
In a search, maybe
Don't tell anyone where I beMy sticky situations
Hiding, I'm flying
I keep them
From youFucking motherfuckers
Fucking motherfuckerA pig without wings
Is just another pig
And a prick that's not hard
Is just another dickSmiling kids make me think
Do I have the right
To swing from the monkey barsCandy hearts and lucky charms
Where the fuck is my delivery
At the playground going for a swim in my cereal
The spoon, the spoon
Oh, fucking christ, the spoonCutting lines
Oh god, it's finally time to party
Dirty (x8)Delivery, I'm fucking starving
Sounds good, let's get it going
Bury me up bread and a rocket
Expect no delaysTopsy turvy
Driving on the curvy
To the sounds ofMail boxes knocking over
Help my aim, oh please
In a search, maybe
Don't tell anyone where I beMy sticky situations
Hiding, I'm flying
I keep them
From youFucking motherfuckers

Enjoy the lyrics !!!

Melvin "Lil' Son" Jackson (August 16, 1915, Tyler, Texas - May 30, 1976, Dallas) was an American blues guitarist. Jackson's mother played gospel guitar, and he played early on in a gospel group called the Blue Eagle Four. He trained to be a mechanic and did a stint in the Army during World War II, then decided to pursue a career in blues music. He was a contemporary of Lightnin' Hopkins.
He recorded a demo and sent it to Bill Quinn, the owner of Gold Star Records, in 1946.

Read more about Lil' Son Jackson on Last.fm.


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Lil' Son Jackson