My Own Parade - ¡MAYDAY!, Murs

Momma always said, «I was her favorite mistake»

Poppa said, «I made it», and he’s fuckin' amazed

My sister begging me to get her friends backstage

Got a key to the city, and a street in my name

(I think I need my own parade

I think I need my own parade)

The club that wouldn’t let me in back in the days

Now the same motherfucker, where they beg me to play

They said I was a sinner, now they giving me praise

Got a key to the city, and a street in my name

(I think I need my own parade

I think I need my own parade)

It’s MursDay baby and don’t it sound so crazy?

Come on and hop up on the bandwagon

Grown men for the win no pants sagging

It’s an All-Souls Processional

Ain’t no question we true rap professionals

I gotta smash on the radio, feeling so perennial

Feet on the couch while we talking to arsenio

Vixen from the video, calling me Emilio

Burning up a dab while she say she cooking my cereal

MursDay killing this shit we need our own parade

I’ma park this float out front and let the speakers play

We let the speakers play

Until the tweeters are leaking liters of senoritas

Sweet enough to ease the pain

Cause you know we gon' slay

You need a ticket just to kick it, with the sickness

I be sippin', stickin' meter maids

So get up and get off your damn barstool

MD’s leading the march, the grand marshals

You seen us on Youtube with tubas fam

Ain’t no questioning who’s who or who’s the man

Was hoping that you dudes would understand

Ain’t no groupies just good dudes with true fans

You need a huge band when you got huge plans

To play your theme music and set the mood, damn

I think I need my own parade

I think I need my own parade

Spoils for the winners

Comps for the dinners

Drinks on the house

Toast to the heavy hitters

Got a tub full of Guinness

And some stars for my ninjas

A billion for my business

By the time a player finish

I’ll be damned if I ain’t in track to fill a trophy case

Hungry for success too long and now I gotta taste

And you can see my ego in orbit way out in outer space

Brand new Nikes on my feet with automatic lace

Most of the time I’m movin' Off The Wall

Type of dude to stop mid verse because I got a call (phone rings)

What’s up girl?

Ya momma said it’s time to come home to show her

How to put our new album up on her iPhone

And I clone billions of better vibes in my tone

Checks up in my mailbox, jack up in my time zone

Wrek comes expect domination

MursDay, we’re like a never-ending necknomination

Stacking up the shots for the sport and the fashion

Now that’s what the fuck I call a chain reaction

Made the top of the food chain

All without new chains

Bump in the budget

Cuz the shit we make is butane

Hits for all my hitters

Villas for all my Gorrillas

Dancing with only Shakiras

While our enemies all fear us

I’mma have the whole city offline and

Marching at my pace

Hang on every line that I rhyme like monkeys in a cage

I think I need my own parade

I think I need my own parade