Self-loathing narcissist
|
Spittin' crowbars out the back window of cars and shit
|
And acting like a klonopin binge, hardening
|
And switching up the moniker of artists into arsonists
|
|
Knock-knock, it's that prodigal pen-throttle, bitch
|
Popping like the top of a bottle of hot JavaScript
|
Rhyme harder than nine joggers with
|
Shin splints dodging an ornery rhinoceros
|
|
Order me my waffles and bother me not, blogger
|
The option of being modest just walked to where my father went
|
Ponder how we can holler then spit darker
|
Than Gotham at six bars in the genre then lick shots
|
|
At imposters and miss nada, Volatile pig brawler
|
Is hotter than lit parliament singeing your fucking arm
|
In the parking lot of a Target, I'm targeted, piss-harboring
|
Heart dark as that thick parka I slip markers in
|
|
Holla if you've never been a starter
|
Spartan kicking jocks and tossing salt at their Ed Hardy shit
|
Burning chops, talking shit, rocking 28's on a rocket ship
|
So I could give a fuck about the car you in, nigga
|
|
Drool and chew aluminum
|
Blue 'Preme overalls, jump when the Goombas come
|
Some of you should run from where the shooters come
|
Out for cheese with a studio, it's like a gouda run, it glues to us
|
|
Shouts to pigeons that I flew amongst
|
Mouth deliver poop, it's spouting mucus from its stupid tongue
|
Alpha male, got the chickens looser than his cruising trucks
|
Losers get a Kuma Punch, I'm moving like a puma's lunch (Thanks James)
|
|
And I'm... back... bye
|
|
-----------------
|
Home
|
| Earl Sweatshirt |
