Reed investigated the crime & eventually found that no such murder took place, though he struck up a friendship with the depressed but colorful character of McLemore. After a year of exchanging emails & several months of conversation with McLemore, producer Brian Reed traveled to Woodstock to investigate. McLemore sent an email to the staff of the show 'This American Life' asking them to investigate an alleged murder in his hometown of Woodstock, Alabama, a place McLemore claimed to despise. Matt also comments specifically on the lyrics: "I decided that the lyrics would shadow McLemore's life." In 2012, antiquarian horologist John B.
Watching the initial trailers for the game & looking at production sketches reminded him of the 'S-Town' podcast & its main protagonist, John B. Matt Shadows their lead singer says the song was written as per request from the developers of Call of Duty: Black Ops 4. I may not have got them all, and I may have possibly made some mistakes. I tried correcting the multitude of errors on this song's lyrics. Left it up to ya woman, man to move your rocksĬhuck Taylors All Stars with hard stars? You went to jail naked in ya shoes and socks With the little you got, are you cold or hot In the bushes or the woods, man you do what you could Leave my heart on your block like a lost glock You remind me of cocaine and doo doo stains Make a move with me birdy baby grab the dough My All Star Chuck Taylors, they laced like the mayorĬatch a feelin, slipped in on a banana peelin' Pocahantes makin money befor we bustin in the tipi Yeah, spin like a cd, I try not to get sleepy No love, unpassionate, blow weed in the face of the baddest chick Tell that to the freak in them jeans, know what I mean? Laughin up to ya woman man to move ya rocksĪnd the freak turned the spot into a hot box Put it down with the plot, and got knockedĪnd went to jail naked in ya shoes and socks With the little you got are you cold or hot In the bushes of wood man u did what you could You remind me of cocaine and do these thangsĪnd I'm still trippin of that room with the blood on the ceilingĪnd leave my heart on the block like the lost glock Make a move with me birdy baby like a linebacker The freaks got it poppin like a fashion show International keep the party crackin like its pistachios You be like Nicky man no favor, real poppaĬatchin feeling, you got a scheme homie what you dealin
My All Star Chuck Taylors, they lace like the mayor Pocahantes makin money for me bustin in the tee pee On the grind when it's creepy, street gods wanna teach me Yet spin like a cd, I try not to get sleepy No love or passionate, blow weed in the face of the badest chick Have heart if you dont have muscle buy the punk gear in the tuscle It's kind of ironic, make a phone call for the chronic Tell that to the freaky them jeans, know what I mean It pump weed and gasoline, Nicky Nickitine The one bullet, the right place at the right timeĬan turn a hell of a wave into a flat line I seen them dead on the floor with the blood's keated to the ceiling You better have heat when you hang with this villian Shere Khan is something that the wind cries
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