Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song No Such Thing, artist - Apathy.
Date of issue: 09.06.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
No Such Thing |
Live from the eye of the storm |
I transform |
Shoot up the dance floor |
Make your whores' pants warm |
This is madness |
Memoir the thoughts of a savage |
Who packs automatics in Louis Vuitton baggage |
I bash shit |
Bloody a bloody ya whole rap clique |
And jump outta Jabba the Hutts barge with a back flip |
Bastion a never ending story on a dragon |
I’m flying down the block with timbs and pants sagging |
A catalog that will leave your ghostwriter dead |
Cause I stay on fire like Ghost Rider’s head |
Keep the toast by the bed |
With supplies of meds |
In a standoff with dreads and wise guys and feds |
Okay, maybe I just play too much Xbox |
Clash your competition like Yankees and Red Sox |
I love when hoes call me big poppa |
Sticking my dick in ‘em, inflicting 'em with stigmata |
There’s no such thing, as too much hoes |
Too much weed, or too much doe |
Cause all I do is fuck, get high and get mine |
All I do is fuck, get high and get mine |
Night stalker |
Cool as a white walker |
Might dead the buy bread and slide for the side offer |
Live author |
Talk down to ya high enforcer |
When I die, you tell 'em capture this look in my eye in portraits |
I rise, my return (is) designed to apply torture |
To live corpses of the side talkers operated, carnivore |
With a carnival of monsters I created |
A king maker who’s regicidal |
My regimen reckless |
Unrecognizable, unregistered rifle on blast |
Catch these clips, the skit’s viral |
Mind detect Mind, mine detects mines |
I step aside 'em and |
Address my rivals |
I’ll send’em something they can sign for |
Showing that your rhymes suck |
Is exactly why I signed up |
Line 'em up |
Who the next to get doja’d |
Get folded |
I’ll put your heels on the back of your shoulders |
Boulders, smash skully’s (Scully) like a regular Mulder |
It’s over. |
There’s no such thing, as too much hoes |
Too much weed, or too much doe |
Cause all I do is fuck, get high and get mine |
All I do is fuck, get high and get mine |
Yeah |
Umbilical cord snapper |
Giving life to rappers |
Pounds at the left hand |
Fuckboys wearing pampers |
I hop out the hamper like honey I’m home |
With your favorite robe on and put the crone to her dome |
Dominican Republic, a presidential debater |
Drug smuggler cartel the boy motivator |
Playing raze and tag four corners elevators |
Selling to him piece on stage, mic slayer |
Rolling Stone rock star, eight balls, Bloody Marys |
Bitches powder their nose, giving me head in taxis |
Welcome to the Nutso show |
Where fakes get exposed |
Head chopped off, brain splattered to the front row |
Call me Nutstigliano |
I put my stigmata in a big butt stink Italiana |
Five star amada, until mañana |
no injections, natural nauticas |
There’s no such thing, as too much hoes |
Too much weed, or too much doe |
Cause all I do is fuck, get high and get mine |
All I do is fuck, get high and get mine |
I’m shaking hands with many devils in the industry |
Devils in the industry |
Devils in the industry |