Blow Yr Head lyrics - Asher Roth, Nottz Raw & Travis Barker

Man, I don't know

I'm just trying to have fun with it everywhere I go

Truth be told I just got caught up in a bunch of nonsense

Trying to take the fun out of my back pockets and stuff

You'll never take my freedom, you know?

Yo, Ash stop fucking around, yo where's the album?

Your second try never came out my man, how come?

You were like the coolest guy, now we want Malcolm

Who out here too loud, you need to turn it down some

Chill, not now son

Your doubt can't jeopardize my outcome

I style like I'm stretching out in Shaolin

Man of many sounds, I come around

They ask "Who?" like Pete Townshend

I'm O-Town meets Andre 3000, either way keep bouncing

It's wild, I don't even leave the house

And I don't feel the need to reason with you children

Needs to be arousing like a jousting match fouled him

I ain't counting that, astounding how I'm rounding out my alphabet

We ain't even rowdy yet

Salvy ain't make himself a Salvy yet

Bout it since we started smoking salvia

Cruising in a golf cart on the gulf coast with a GoPro

And my bro knows, why old folks go 'There goes that Bozo'

My flow like J. Flacco getting tackled by fat dude

Who grabbed [?] on a back road in bath robe with a bad cold

Homie, I'm that cold

Ash, I just walk around with an afro

And a gavel and I laugh more than a jackal

Crack up, pistachio

Graduate, forget to flip that tassel

My bad yo, that's too much of a hassle

Casserole with Castro

Stash gets blown like it's a gastro, you gassed though

More like watching grass grow

I can be an asshole

I rather just hang out in my castle, blast Outkast

Yo Elroy, where's Astro?

Bet if the Jetsons had a best friend from Def Jam

And Geffen and wed them, I would be the best man

Get it? I'm a breast man

Stick my face right between that chest and

Motorboat those cocos you know it though

Don't no one wan' go toe-to-toe…. rototiller… photos off your motorola phone are terrible

Terrible, Terridome, territory, Tara Reid

Dude from 90210, tornado made of hammer domes

Sharin' poems here, smell my pheromones

Yeah yo, my hair's long

I don't even care homes

Takes these earphones, put them on your eardrums

Here's some of this red rum, you ready boy, here it comes

You ready boy, here it comes

On a full ride to Florida State, too high played it safe

Could've been Flo Rida, my bad, my mistake

Should've started Footloose, the new Kevin Bac'

The way I play chicken in busses with no brakes

And Busta was on break, taking a pay cut

I play cuts from my stuff, make everybody go nuts

Now everybody say "Whaaaat?"

What was that? That was fun

Let's do that again