It's as if the fore fathers Gonna trade it for a piece They can lick the wound slow Like they're from the northeast They resist I'm going easy Bankin' on the hearsay But they all know the man with the co-pay Mixed up in the mid, they get the high to low rap Its a tight rope, til the rope goes slack It'll blow your mind, but it don't get you around,
I ain't messin' around. I ain't messin' around.
So I got my gold parachute Turn one more left turn With my chloroform and a Monet 'fore we can take a long ride down the narrow drive And keep ya head down, yeah They come and jump in Now may I ask to who you reach all the money so I Don't sell the van Can't find my, Can't find my cat's got nine times So let the poochie on the record and ya got 'em on the messin' around
Can we do a re-vote Backed by hard-earned job It's hard to get to things of my own As if I don't think, think, thinkin' up and sippin' on the world He was lookin' from the top look out
Say preach, Buy them treats, and this guy he prayed Father told them pick them on the fallen tree Father picked them off the top And so we're getting caught up in the mountain, Still no pay check. To be found I ain't messin' around Are ya sorted? Are ya sound? Are ya sound? Are ya sound? Are ya sorted?
Writer/s: Bradley Joseph Corrigan, Chad Stokes Urmston, Peter Francis Heimbold
Publisher: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind
Ronnie Van Zant wrote the Lynyrd Skynyrd classic "Gimme Three Steps" after making the mistake of dancing with a girl whose boyfriend was in the bar and probably had a gun. He asked for a 3-step head start.