Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I'm Not Done, artist - Denace. Date of issue: 18.09.2018
Song language: English
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 |