Pink Matter (Remix) Lyrics

“Pink Matter (Remix)”
(feat. André 3000 & Big Boi)

And the peaches and the mangoes that you could sell for me

What do you think my brain is made for?
Is it just a container for the mind?
This great grey matter
Sensei replied, “What is your woman?
Is she just a container for the child?”
That soft pink matter
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, oh
Close my eyes and fall into you, you, you
My God, she’s giving me pleasure
Oh, nah, nah

What if the sky and the stars are for show
And the aliens are watching live
From the purple matter?
Sensei went quiet, then violent
And we sparred until we both grew tired
Nothing mattered
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, oh, oh
Dim the lights and fall into you, you, you
My God, giving me pleasure, pleasure
Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure over matter

(Hey, hey) Yeah
Doesn’t matter if she wanna be with me, so it’s cool
I make her call me B. B. King because I give her the blues
But not on purpose though, she was the perfect hostess
When I come over, we would do the grossest
Most beautifulest things on a bed of roses
Would be the coldest when you hit the hardwood floor
We sipping ‘gnac, not mimosas
She’s in my naked lap, going HAM like she’s supposed to
And she could make it clap if I told her
Or make her ass spread like the back of a cobra
Standing at attention like a soldier
A G.I. Joe, man, see, me, I go in (Ask a bitch, nigga)
Yeah, that nigga goes up in it
Like smoke through a chimney (Hey, hey)
Slow stroke, ’cause she feeling me up in her, nigga
Killing me softly, raw dog, she wants me
Strong and black like her coffee, get off me
Act a donkey, I pin her tail to the mattress
I’ve been a player, make her go from classy to nasty
Nasty, nasty, nasty, nasty (Ha, ha, ha)
To sloosh (Hey, hey)

Since you been gone, I been having withdrawals
You were such a habit to call
I ain’t myself at all, had to tell myself, “Naw
She better with some fella with a regular job.”
I didn’t wanna get her involved
By dinner, Mr. Benjamin was sitting in awe
Hops into my car, drove far
Far’s too close and I remember my memory’s no sharp
Butter knife, what a life, anyway
I’m building y’all a clock, stop, what am I? Hemingway?
She had the kind of body that would probably intimidate
Any of ’em that were un-southern, not me, cousin
If models are made for modeling, thick girls are made for cuddling
Switch worlds and we can huddle then
Who needs another friend? I need to hold your hand
You’d need no other man, we’d flee to other lands

Grey matter
Blue used to be my favorite color
Now I ain’t got no choice
Blue matter

You’re good at being bad (Yep)
You’re bad at being good (Oh)
For Heaven’s sakes, go to Hell
Kno—knock on wood, hey
You’re good at being bad (You’re bad at being good)
You’re bad at being good
(For Heaven’s sakes, go to Hell, knock on wood)
For Heaven’s sakes, go to Hell
Knock, knock, knock, knock on wood
Well frankly when that ocean so motherfucking good
Make her swab the motherfucking wood
Make her walk the motherfucking plank
Make her rob a motherfucking bank
With no mask on and a rusty revolver

About Frank Ocean Lyrics

Artist: Frank Ocean
Related Songs: PDA Lyrics
 October 28, 1987 (age 34 years), Long Beach, California, United States
Songwriting partners: Ye, Beyoncé, Jay-Z, Earl Sweatshirt, MORE
Awards: Grammy Award for Best Melodic Rap Performance, MORE
Nominations: Grammy Award for Album of the Year, MORE
Books: Frank Ocean – Channel Orange (Songbook)
Genre: Hip hop music, Rhythm and blues, Pop music, MORE

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