In Her Music Box Lyrics - When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold - Atmosphere

She had a bad dream in the back seat 

The same one as yesterday, the same one as last week 

Surrounded by her favorite favorites 

Elmo, Barbie, her purple baby blanket 

And that little Matchbox, looks just like Dad's car 

Its fast on the leather, pretends its nascar 

It jumps over Elmo cause it can fly that far 

With Daddy in the front seat talking like a rap star 

And girl, oh girl, Daddy's the greatest 

He knows the words to everything on the radio play list 

He fakes the accent, even makes all the faces 

And when he raises his voice it makes her feel like he's famous 

Yeah Papa got his lean on 

Weavin down Lake Street tryin to get his scene on 

Stoppin the whip to say something out the window 

Bobbin his head to the beat on the radio 

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Good Daddy wont smoke no weed 

Until the bass cradles her back to sleep 

But he can steak his mack while she takes a nap 

To the sweet pretty sounds of the gangsta rap 

The high hats are angles' voices 

They keep her distracted from the strangers' voices 

Escape is a paradox 

Because the childhood is locked in that music box 

Daddys drive around, Mommys work night shift 

Sweet dreams, sleep little precious 

Lay down in that music box 

Escape in the sound of 

Daddys drive around, Mommys work night shift 

Sweet dreams, sleep little precious 

Lay down in that music box 

Escape in the sound of that music box 

Photos 

Yeah, Daddy knows people, he's important 

The guy with the suit and tie they see at the court 

And it seems like he ain't tryin to talk to police 

But at the car wash they treat him like the star that she sees 

They like Poppa's big wheels 

And the lollipop she gets makes her feel like a big deal 

Not allowed to have it yet, gotta sit still 

Like the toy that she knows is gonna come with the kids meal 

She loves drive-thru food 

Health conscious Dad, he buys her the juice 

A little sip of soda builds the pride 

Go ahead baby-girl don't spill those fries 

Nu-uh, Papa cant roll a messy office 

Compulsive in the way she lay them napkins all across the seat 

Never puts her feet up on the upholstery 

Just kicks em side to side to the beat on the radio 

She sings along like Dad does 

She knows all the words but she leaves out the bad ones 

Except "bitch" she always sings the word "bitch" 

Cause it makes her daddy laugh, its her magic trick 

And when Daddy picks Mommy up they fight 

They fight about money, they fight about life 

So she concentrates oh so hard on the music 

And loses herself inside of the bass and the movement 

Daddys drive around, Mommys work night shift 

Sweet dreams, sleep little precious 

Lay down in that music box 

Escape in the sound of 

Daddys drive around, Mommys work night shift 

Sweet dreams, sleep little precious 

Lay down in that music box 

Escape in the sound of that music box 

Turn that Buick off