Lyrics Polo Jeans - Mac Miller, Earl Sweatshirt

Polo Jeans

I give no fucks when I go nuts, cause I smoke dust, overdosed on the sofa: Dead
Woke up from the coma pulled up in a Skoda smoked, went back to bed
Never thought it would be such a loner, I tell my bitch that I fucking own her
My neighbor’s daughter just got a dog, I’ma run it over, I’m a fucking soldier
So cold bro fuck pneumonia, all my bitches got love for Sosa, I just wanna fuck
Rosa Acosta then disappear in Southern California
Strung out to the night, I’m chilling, everybody worried the lights might kill
them
Via sight slipping, long lines of those white women
I’m with the homies, bump Counting Crows
Just went through the half ounce of coke, blood pouring out my nose
Don’t tell my mom I got a drug problem, I’m fucking high
We publicize, when the sun go down I come alive
Cause the guns go off in the summer time, cause the guns go off in the summer
time
Blaow
This another motherfucking rap song
Broke and crazy, rich and famous doesn’t last long
Spent all my cash on a broken dream
Went from weed and liquor to the coke and lean
All I got’s this mansion and this potpourri
But don’t I look so handsome in these Polo jeans?
Don’t I look so handsome in these Polo jeans?
I blow a spliff before the ink dries on the paper
And lately, I don’t like shit, I been inside on the daily
Getting wasted as the time that I’m spending high and sedated
I’m putting five in his face, because we don’t buy into bullshit
As soon as it’s flashing lights then it’s kush to hide in the bushes
I do this shit out of spite cause there’s niggas that overlooked me forever
I’m more content with dark and stormier weather
Flip the fucking cross on your rosary, we supposed to be better
But here’s a toast to your efforts, and don’t approach me with nothing
That isn’t money or breakfast, I’m close to choking a pussy, pussy
Sweaty Man, you best had bet your bottom dollar on him
With a couple niggas, weighing sess like it’s a lot options
15 on me for soda and swishers
And who’s the shit, a bag of chips, and a colon decleanser?
I’m over bitches trying to act like I owe 'em a picture
Rather introduce these hoes to Vince who could show you a pistol
Listen, ST was the older initials
Been rap game tighter than boa constricters
Rolling stoned like a boulder raving, I’m so impatient and going dumb as
Disclosing my fucking home location to total strangers
No love in my heart for coppers, blood from my lungs on the sink
Cashing out off the garments, the artist, fuck what you think
The sky’ll turn black and the carrions could pick
And my flesh when I rest, tell 'em bury me adrift