Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Couch , by - Earl Sweatshirt. Song from the album Earl, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 05.04.2015
Record label: Classic Hits
Song language: English
Couch |
| Uh, was always smartmouthed and quick-witted |
| But somethin' was always missin' like six digits, lucky seven |
| Probably poppa, little nigga so they picked on him, hassled him |
| Things changed when I hassled back, so, David hit the pavement |
| With this grapple rap, Snapple fact: you rather wack |
| While I am poppin' like a snappin' crack |
| So high you could see like Tallahass, the opposite of cataracts |
| Matter fact I am Farmer John milkin' cattle tracks |
| Action packed nipple squeezin', boy colder than sniffle season |
| Simple genius, go hard and spit bits of semen |
| So when the street is split, don’t act surprised, agree with it |
| The gang of wolves that creeps in crypts |
| As deep as Dawson’s Creek and shit |
| I pray they got gills either that or grab some floaties |
| I know I got skills, why you think I’m posted boastin'? |
| Braggin', tell these faggots to stop naggin' |
| 'Cause them Wolf Gang niggas threw them off the bandwagon like |
| Uh, was always fucked up as shit with it |
| But I didn’t cross the line until the bridge hit it, troll |
| I got you niggas nervous like virgins flirtin' with Uncle Mervin |
| Fuckin' y’all with no lubricant, go grab the detergent |
| I preach to demons at your church, now I’m the newest sermon |
| Wearin' nothin' but they fuckin' blast with the matchin' turban |
| I drive through white suburbans in the black Suburban swervin' |
| Hittin' curbs and blastin' Erick Sermon, drunk off English bourbon |
| I’m stealin' purses, rapin' nurses, I’m a crooked surgeon |
| And treat the beat like sanitized Nazi puss, I’m a German |
| I’m squirtin' while I’m masturbatin' and regurgitatin' |
| From eatin' Miley Cyrus salad pussy platter they were servin' |
| My only purpose is to jerk it cause it has a curve |
| So bitches hate to do me like ex-convict community service |
| This my Zombie Circus, you better get a fuckin' ticket |
| Odd Future Wolf Gang, like they’re filmin' Twilight in this bitch |
| I’m back on my sixty six sick shit |
| Flowin' like the blood out the competition’s slit wrists |
| She lick it up, Dracula, then spit it back, back at ya |
| She mad as fuck, stuck in the back of a black Acura |
| Fed her acid now the duct tape quacks back at her |
| Hello Heather yellow feathers, now you ain’t laughin', huh? |
| Bitch, you’re barely breathin', leavin' on the back of the boat |
| While I fill you up with semen from the Wolf Gang team and |
| Flowin' like the creampie inside of your daughter |
| Oughta eat the bitch with salt and wash it down with a gallon of water |
| I grab the saw and sawed her arm off and auctioned it |
| And dip her teeth in gold molds and flossed the shit |
| Fuckin' awesome, spittin' box of trees, got you niggas |
| Shakin' like it’s Parkinsons from the clitoris of Kelly Clarkson’s dick |
| Ironin' you niggas now it’s time to starch the shit |
| Drown your bitch in a tub of cum and throw a shark in it |
| Find a random abandoned garage and go to park in it |
| Find Earl laying on the burgundy carpet, pull my knife out |
| Sharpen it, stab him, put a arch on it |
| Pour unleaded gas on him, get the Zippo and spark the shit |
| Hop back in the van and then depart the bitch |
| Killed him on his own track, the faggot shouldn’t have started it |