Painkillers Lyrics - Whitey Ford Sings The Blues - Everlast

On behalf of Pan Am Airlines, we'd like to be the first 

To welcome you to New York City. 

We'd like to thank you for flying Pan Am. 

The local time is 6:45 AM and the temperature is 89 degrees 

I've been up all night 

On the red eye flight 

The dawn's early light 

Got the skyline bright 

I'm in the back of a car service 

My driver's kind of nervous 

'Cause I'm tokin' on a blunt that's fat 

You say you know where you at 

I say I know where I am 

And if you really want a tip 

Then Mr. don't get flam 

I ain't tryin' to be rude 

And I ain't stressin' you gramps 

But this shit right here 

It be the breakfast of champs 

I've been tokin' on this since thirteen years old 

And when I look up at my wall I see platinum and gold 

And there ain't nobody sneezin' at the money I fold 

And I ain't here for your pleasin' 

So put that shit on hold 

Just keep your mouth shut and get me to the hotel 

And turn the radio up while I finish this L 

Welcome back to the Five Seasons Mr. Ford, your usual room 

Is ready and waiting. Let me take your luggage. 

If you need anything while 

You're staying, just let me know. 

Good lookin' out 

That's for you. 

I hop out my car 

Step into the lobby 

Everybody's on the floor (get down) 

It's a motherfuckin' robbery 

The shit's in progress 

I can feel the stress 

I wanna silently to God how I get in this mess 

They tell me to freeze and get down on my knees 

Between my jewels and my cash 

I'm holdin' thirty five G's 

They told me to run it 

So I got bold and I front it 

And like Slick Rick said 

I know I shouldn't have done it 

'Cause now they standin' over me 

Watchin' me bleed 

Damn, I got to quit smokin' all this weed 

There's a pain in my chest 

But yo, I must be blessed 

Because before I faded out I saw the EMS 

The paramedics 

They greet me with some anesthetics 

They killin' my pain 

They screamin' my name 

Tryin' to keep me in the conscious world 

I'm thinkin' about my mom 

My sister and my girl 

I'm prayin' to God 

Don't let this go too far 

As they rush me into the St. Luke's O.R. 

They pull the bullets out my chest 

And give 'em back in a jar 

Now I'm wearin' this scar 

'Cause I tried to play hard 

Mr. Ford, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. 

What are you talkin' about? 

It would appear that one of the bullets grazed your spine and damaged the cord. 

So what are you tryin' to tell me? 

Well, it's safe to say I don't think you'll be jumpin' around anymore. 

Yo, this can't happen to me 

I just can't believe it 

Trapped in a wheelchair 

A paraplegic 

There ain't no rehab 

There ain't no therapy 

For the rest of my life 

Somebody's gotta take care of me 

And people stare at me 

With pity in their eyes 

And every mornin' I rise to a life of despise 

And ever night I think I might never rock the mic again 

'Cause my brain's fucked up on percacet and vicadin 

Might as well be heroin pulsin' through my veins 

Gotta kill these pains 

Or blow out my brains 

To free me from these chains 

I'm trapped in this physical hell 

To walk again I just might sell my soul 

And I'm only twenty somethin' years old (years old)