Lyrics I'm Not Done - Denace, Dispencery7

I'm Not Done

Rest in peace, Machine Bun Jelly
Dear Stan… oop, shit, scratch that
Dear Mr. I’m-too-good-to-call-or-write-the-Stans
This is the last package I ever send your ass
But it’s your eulogy, stupid geek, hope you like it
Took me two beers and a jelly sandwich to write it
Been six days now, no word, I don’t deserve it
You got my last diss, bitch, 'cause it was perfect!
The flow was a little off 'cause I had a fifth of vodka
Marshall came through with the kill
And then shot ya
But this is the double tap to this fuckin' brat
And the rest of mumble rap (Woo)
It’s time to cut the track like a lumberjack
Can’t believe you need a bodyguard to chuck a jab
Talkin' up a bunch of smack, what the fuck is up with that?
Only place your punches land
Is a fuckin' punching bag, cut the act
I’m sure this barrel will fit where your apparel would sit
More street cred than Vanilla Ice, I’m barely convinced
Both of you wore the same parachute dress
That didn’t even open when your careers took a plunge
Fired shots on your entire block
How can I be afraid of death when I die a lot?
(Whoops)
I heard Em disowned you, I might adopt (Lil Tay)
Popped up, buyin' shots, got blocked
Left your tabs open, Firefox
And how’s this guy still tweetin' from inside a box?
Did you Fall Out, Boy, and now you’re tryna rock?
Nice tat, now go binge on a giant cock
You got a record deal and I don’t (Bitch)
You can sign whatever you like but I won’t (Bad boy)
You don’t know, you don’t know
You don’t know me
You can hate all you like, say what you might
But I’ll never lose sleep (Nope)
You know what rhymes with Iggy Azalea?
(What?)
Talentless, overrated, chick from Australia (What else?)
Fake, plastic, paraphernalia
Ass and tits like they were bit by a tick with Malaria (Gross)
Yeah, now it’s our turn, shit
Joe Budden’s getting clicked like the power-on switch
Such a sour old bitch, and delirious
Sirius, you faker than Howard Stern’s wig
And you can hardly hang, 'bout to drop like Artie Lange
Retired from hip-hop the day the truck
To pick up the fuckin' garbage came, Charlamagne
And you can depart a plane into the ocean
So we never hear your retarded brain start again
Bhad Bhabi, you clearly a hoe
How you been 15 for three years in a row?
Go on Dr. Phil’s show, and call your mom a bitch
Now you’re makin' hits?
(Huh?)
And people got the nerve to ask why I’m an atheist?
Shit, no wonder I’m feeling alone
It’s a conspiracy, bro!
Earth is flat!
Not a sphere or a globe!
Eminem is a clone!
Kylie Jenner’s the richest woman alive from a career on her own!
Shit… I guess the world is full of idiots
No wonder I give up tryna give a shit (Aah!)
I’m Steve Jobs to this PC culture
So like Bruce Jenner’s dick, time to get rid of it (Oops)
Odd «Future», you’re way too predictable
'Bout to cut you into more pieces than an Eminem interview (Haha)
By the way why you tryna make him sway, Sway?
Retract calling someone who called himself gay, gay
Damn, did you guys forget what rapping is?
(Huh?)
Fall on your head and forget who Marshall Mathers is?
(Huh?)
The church is jacking kids, Donald Trump is grabbing tits
But you’re mad at this?
(Wow)
Well, guess what?
(What?)
Tyler’s still a faggot bitch
You don’t know, you don’t know
You don’t know me
You can hate all you like, say what you might
But I’ll never lose sleep (Nope)
Hey, little troll, put the gun down (Gra-ta-ta-ta)
Everybody blood now
I got the munchies, you’re just lunch meat
I bring such heat, you must bring sunscreen (Woo!)
Yeah, I drove off a bridge, right into Crystal Lake
With my Lil Pump in the trunk wrapped in some tape
They call me Stan, fuck 'em, I’m rambunctious
Came back to life with an appetite for
Some clout chasing, an amp to fight more
Take a bite, it’s so damn delightful
They can hate, but they can’t deny me
They have an issue, Stans behind me
Blue, yellow, purple pills
Enter the Matrix, agent’s field
You all sound the same, it’s sick
You even look alike, face tats, and lisps
A bunch of hypocrites at the least, you fake cunts
At least I sound like the mothafuckin' greatest
You don’t know, you don’t know
You don’t know me
You can hate all you like, say what you might
But I’ll never lose sleep (Nope)
Sincerely, Stan
P. S. Fuck Logan Paul!
Ugh, fuck!
Spit your rhymes (Yeah) like that’s it