Island Blues

Poppa loves mamma
Mamma loves grappa
Poppa loves chamba
But mamma’s a mamba
Poppa loves mamma
Mamma loves mamma
And I go bananas
Survivin' the Bahamas
Poppa loves mamma
Mamma loves grappa
Poppa loves chamba
But mamma’s a mamba
So I’m sittin' back in the kushy hotel chair
Braids in my long flowin' silky red hair
Takin' hits from the vape pen in my lips
Watchin' the bellhop pick-up some fat tips
As the two quickly enter the lobby
I can tell she’s so much more than snobby
A diva demon who thinks she’s steamin'
But all we hear is her bitchy screamin'
With neon stripper platform purple heels
Draggin' her man like he’s Erkel on wheels
Why do they bring these fuckin' island blues?
Why do they bring these fuckin' island blues?
Don’t she know that a real goddess or royal queen
Doesn’t have to show the whole damn world everything?
Fuck, that shit belongs behind a closed door
Not as shorts, but in the underwear drawer
He looks disgraced stupidly adorin'
A triflin'-ass street-walkin' backdoor whore
I cringe as she checks out other men
It’s obvious that she’s cheatin' on him
I cringe as she flirts with other men
It’s obvious that she’s cheatin' on him
Poppa loves mamma
Mamma loves grappa
Poppa loves chamba
But mamma’s a mamba
Poppa loves mamma
Mamma loves mamma
And I go bananas
Survivin' the Bahamas
She’s a made-up fake plastic drunken mess
Who’s a slutty and stressed out pest at best
If she’s gotta dress like this to give head
Then she must really fuckin' suck in bed
He wants to tie her hair around her fuckin' neck
Instead he coolly moves out to the upper deck
To check out the hotties with real bodies
Who will get with him nasty and naughty
He got over those fuckin' island blues
He got over those fuckin' island blues
Fuck off with this hot drama in the Bahamas
Leave it at home with your fuckin' mean ol' mamma
I’d so much rather roll up some chamba
Blaze that sweet shit and go dance the samba