Every Friday night at ten, I would call for my best friend.
And sneak a couple of his daddy's Ballantine.
do them in a flash, getting off behind the trash.
Then we'd run to catch the Double A to City Line.
The boys would meet, on a dead end street.
Brag about their women, to pass away the time.
and shoot, the breeze, on their knees.
Oh how I miss that City line
And sneak a couple of his daddy's Ballantine.
do them in a flash, getting off behind the trash.
Then we'd run to catch the Double A to City Line.
The boys would meet, on a dead end street.
Brag about their women, to pass away the time.
and shoot, the breeze, on their knees.
Oh how I miss that City line