I'm sorry I'm not Mr. Sunshine All jokes 'til I start feeling like the punchline I know that you want Mr. Optimistic That ain't realistic I ain't Mr. Sunshine Do my smile keep you around? How about when it's upside down? How about when I'm in bed Four or five days, will you love me now? I bet money You'd smell cyanide in my honey Watch me cry at night and then roll your eyes 'Til you decide to start runnin', oh-oh I'll be ready When you let me Don't forget me Maybe I ain't what I was then I'm sorry, I'm not Mr. Sunshine All jokes 'til I start feeling like the punchline I know that you want Mr. Optimistic That ain't realistic I ain't Mr. Sunshine I'm sorry, I'm not Mr. Sunshine So low and I might be here for a long time I know that you want Mr. Optimistic That ain't realistic I ain't Mr. Sunshine Remember the time that I told you Your troubles are mine and I'd hold you down Stick around, now you nowhere to be found Now you want rainbows I'm a hurricane, a tornado Full of hurt and pain And we don't hurt the same But I still care if you're okay though I'll be ready When you let me Don't forget me Maybe I ain't what I was then I'm sorry, I'm not Mr. Sunshine All jokes 'til I start feeling like the punchline I know that you want Mr. Optimistic That ain't realistic I ain't Mr. Sunshine I'm sorry, I'm not Mr. Sunshine So low and I might be here for a long time I know that you want Mr. Optimistic That ain't realistic I ain't Mr. Sunshine

Oh-oh Oh-oh, oh Oh-oh, oh-oh-oh Yeah See, we in Miami, we just left Mr. Jones With a hundred bitches that's down, ready to fuck She said she wanna be a bartender, I'm like, "Ya ass ain't fat enough" Before you get that, you better go and get a tummy tuck She like, "Papi, can you give me fifty-five hundred?" I ain't givin' you shit unless you suckin' all of us She went upstairs and gave my lil' homie some pussy The lil' nigga fucked around and got sprung She came out the room like, "Papi, my ass hurt" She just put up with mad work, yeah You worried 'bout the wrong thing That's bad work, it's 'bout the cash first When you down, we roll up that sour Break it down in the back, girl If I say that you mine, that mean that you ours You can't put me first, that's backwards See, we in Miami, we just left Mr. Jones With a hundred bitches that's down, ready to fuck She said she wanna be a bartender, I'm like, "Ya ass ain't fat enough" Before you get that, you better go and get a tummy tuck She like, "Papi, can you give me fifty-five hundred?" I ain't givin' you shit unless you suckin' all of us She went upstairs and gave my lil' homie some pussy The lil' nigga fucked around and got sprung (Los illuminati', ¿ah?) I got a stick (I got a stick), one hundred rounds (one hundred rounds) King of Miami shit (brr), we shut it down (we shut it down) One billion streams (jaja), no bundles, no bundles (no bundles, no bundles) I spent seven mill' (seven mill'), 'cause I wanted a condo ('cause I wanted a condo), ey My white girl a snorter, yeah (jaja), you know them caucasians (you know them caucasians), ey Bugatti pre-order, yeah (vrroom), that shit look amazing (that shit look amazing) My bitch at the border, yeah (yeah), a stallion like Megan (yeah, yeah) You know me, I got body (¡brr!), he got me mistaken (¡jaja!), ¡brrr! (¡brr!) 'Toy adicto a gastar dinero con cojone', también 'toy adicto haciendo millone' 'Toy saliendo 'e Booby Trap con cuatro palo' con tambore' (brr) El sistema del R adentro del AK haciendo fusione' (¿ah?) Y los illuminati' me escogieron a mí, no a ti, cabrón, no te encojone' (illuminati') Un millón y medio en el reloj, mámame el bicho y también la muñeca (medio millón) La cubana tiene el culo bien apreta'o como kilo puro de manteca (la cubana) Yo la monto en el Lambo y sin decirle un carajo se saca las teta' (se saca las teta') Y solo come bicho, tiene una estricta dieta, brr (¡jaja!), ¿ah? It's Saturday night (ey), McGregor gotta fight, ey (gotta fight) I'm gonna be ring-side sitting next to Dana White, ey (UFC) And you got a few milli', yeah (yeah), but so do I (so do I) If any 'em don't want to die (¡jaja!) Pussy nigga, take a flight (take a flight), brr Ella e' una diabla, en el putero le dicen "Annabelle" (le dicen "Annabelle") Le gusta que yo se la eche en la cara Toditas quieren chingar con Anuel (chingar con Anuel) Mano, en verdad que yo nunca lloré Y la isla entera la vamo' a correr (Nosotro' mandamo' en la isla), ey Mucho dinero y poder, ¿será por el pacto con Lucifer? (Amén), ey, ¡brr! (¡Ey!) See, we in Miami (we in Miami), we just left Mr. Jones (we just left Mr. Jones) With a hundred bitches that's down, ready to fuck (ready to fuck) She said she wanna be a bartender, I'm like, "Ya ass ain't fat enough" (jajaja) Before you get that, you better go and get a tummy tuck (brr) She like, "Papi, can you give me fifty-five hundred?" (Five hundred) I ain't givin' you shit unless you suckin' all of us (ey) She went upstairs and gave my lil' homie some pussy (some pussy) The lil' nigga fucked around and got sprung

(Rhythm is both the song's manacle and it's demonic charge. It is the original breath, it is the whisper of unremitting demand. "What do you still want of me?", says the singer. "What do you think you can still draw from my lips?" Exact presence that no fantasy can represent. Purveyor of the oldest secret, alive with the blood that boils again, and is pulsing where the rhythm is torn apart. How your singer's blood is incensed at the depth of sound. Lacerations echo in the mouth's open erotic sky where dance together the lost frenzies of rhythm and an imploring immobility. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Grace Jones. Jones the Rhythm.) Slave! Slave to the rhythm Dance to the rhythm Axe to wood in ancient times Man machine, production line The fire burns, with heartbeats strong Sing out loud, the chain gang song Never stop the action Keep it up, keep it up Never stop the action Keep it up, keep it up Slave to the rhythm Dance to the rhythm, The rhythm... master... master... Never stop the action, keep it up Never stop the action Keep it up, keep it up. Slave to the rhythm, work to the rhythm, Dance to the rhythm, live to the rhythm. Slave to the rhythm, Dance to the rhythm, live to the rhythm, Slave to the rhythm, work... to the rhythm, To the rhythm, work to the rhythm, to the rhythm. Slave, slave, To the rhythm, to the rhythm, to the rhythm. (Grace) Oh that's weird... (Grace Jones, welcome) Thank you Paul. And if you're wondering what's wrong with my voice, I just choked on my saliva. So... (Now obviously you're in the Bond movie.)

Come away with me in the night Come away with me And I will write you a song Come away with me on a bus Come away where they can't tempt us With their lies And I want to walk with you On a cloudy day In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high So won't you try to come Come away with me and we'll kiss On a mountain top Come away with me And I'll never stop lovin' you And I want to wake up with the rain Falling on a tin roof While I'm safe there in your arms So all I ask is for you To come away with me in the night Come away with me