Lyrics Bad Bad Bad - Heems

Bad Bad Bad

I’m at least a compelling dude
Telling you my hellish views
Of life as a Telugu (zombie person)
(?) Punjabi writer (? person) asked me what my hobby is
I ain’t have an answer, kicking it probably (I kick it)
I’m whack
Y’all whack
We friends, we all whack
Shouts to Small Black
All y’all could fall back
Can lick my ball sack
It’s all facts
On all wax
All tracks
Aw snap
Linus mad cause I rolled a spliff with tumbaacoo
(?) about Tito’s Tacos
Shredding on my microphone around the country
Has been a great experience, very humbling
Mumbling one thing
The fun thing is something
I have enjoyed doing
But It’s tiring jumping
Up and down for people who praise me like one king
If I wasn’t rapping I wouldn’t be pumping
Gas, I would be sipping on a flask, bumbling
Drunken, chumming it up with you pumpkins
Wondering, why you feel entitled to be fronting
Latkes and Matzo for the posse, it’s nothing
In other words, I got bread
I Googled Latke, turned out it’s not bread
Not a pot head, or a dot head
I sip chai tea, do tai chi
To calm my nerves
Make this in New York, but they bump it in the suburbs
Four words: Shout out to the nerds
That buy our records
The great people in the herds
That buy our records
Yo, cop our record
If you wear a turban you can’t be a cop, but you can shoot one
I want to make a movie, but I could never afford the things you need to shoot
one
I’m hot even when I’m not, friend
My friend, you don’t call me, my friend
I call you, «my friend,» my friend
They let us in in '65
Want our labor, not our lives
Not our kids, not our wives
Lock us up when we sport knives
If you a turban you can’t be a cop, but you can shoot one
Biddies, I scoop one
With finesse, like Grey Poupon
Shoop-a-doop, on a futon
Friction is physics, like Nuetron
Alec on the Gchat taking about the Unabomber
Real expensive Reed talking about DHARMA, or Criminal Minds
I got a criminal mind
Swimming with dimes
I’m betting online
They sweating the vibe
I ain’t letting what’s mine go
I get it with knives
But they, getting in line
To be, getting what’s mine
Heems
Make it pop off like Peter with the sermon
Like, eric I’m herman
I’m cherished
Watching Cheaters and some Jeter, that’s Yankees and Derek
My merits, y’all perish
I’m getting, cheddar and bettin' on André Breton
Mary Lou Retton sweatin' the cake I’m gettin'
Illuminati vettin', he’ll join 'em if they let him
Probably be a trick, and they’ll boil him
If they get him
Never liked rapping, but decided I’d try harder
Then I shot the cover of Spin, and tried Prada
So, went from, «Why bother?»
to, «Fuck it, yo I’ll holla.»
For the mighty dolla
Impalas
Pop bottles