Lyrics Anger Management - Henry Bowers, Oshea, Emilie Maric

Anger Management

Successful people tend to make a common mistake
Sarcastically askin' me what do I make
Well I make you feel pain so if you dae to try it
I will answer with a pair of pliers and piano wire
Cute women come to me with the same old phrase
«I bet you would look great if you shaved your face»
Shit — I’ll pour a flask of fluoric acid
All over your face then display a before and after
I’m a mortal hazard — never asked to get no fashion tips
I hope these plastic manikins all die in traffic accidents
«so when do you plan to get a worthy occupation?»
To answer that here’s a nonverbal proclamation
Pry bar in your eyeball — you’ll clearly go blind
I will tear your behind — shove a spear in your spine
I know that it’s wrong when in a clear state of mind
But then why did it seem like such a good idea at the time
Something’s inside of me — is it guiding or fighting me
A blessing or a curse — for better or for worse
Can’t figure it out for the life of me
Let’s get it straight from the start yo Henry ain’t shavin' shit
I blaze a crack spliff and make your mother take a hit
It’s nothing personal we’re doin' it for the sake of it
«yo Osh — sack the drug talk and try to fuckin' make a hit»
You want a hit — take these size 9 to your dick
I’m too legit like roaches up in Chris Tucker house
I’m sick of emcees actin' like tey from the boogie down
They tellin' me they guns be goin' blokka blokka blaow
Like where you shoot them motherfuckers — in your mother’s house?
Start duckin' down — I’m swingin' haymakers at your head
One punch in motion man it’s like «oh my god Oshea he’s dead»
You fuckin' minor and I ain’t talkin' baby sex
Your bird is since the least forgettable like Jay-Z's ex
A wobble man — give him the baby step — crazy legs
Catch me on your plane — pissed off with a bomb makin' threats
Something’s inside of me — is it guiding or fighting me
A blessing or a curse — for better or for worse
Can’t figure it out for the life of me
Oh these days every day — the man is in a bad mood
My bird can’t cook so I always order fast food
It’s a waste money — I hate it sonny
But the shit this bitch be puttin' on my plate is tastin' funny
What in the flyin' motherfuckin' hell is this?
I’m a man — not a rabbit — how many times I’ve got to tell you this?
Fuck your salad bitch — where’s the fuckin' egg and chips?
I’m sick of people sayin' that I’m way too fuckin' negative
I hate Liverpool, United, Chelsea and Arsenal
City, Spurs, Villa, Leads, Forest and Hall
Trannmere, Millwall, West Ham and West Brom
In fact — if you ain’t Everton go fuck yourself and get gone
I morbidly torture the fortunate
Those who can afford to be gorgeous — I slaughter them all
Having sort of a ball and I smile when they hurt
Nothing wrong with a man taking pride in his work
And if you feel the need to question why I laugh at gore
I will take that as an act of war and then I’ll crack your jaw
And senior citizens — I don’t mean to shit on them
But they’re frumpy and grumpy and I really take offence
Hey grandma — I bet you won’t be finding it so simple
To be crusty with a rusty screwdriver in your temple
Man I plan to get me some anger management
But that shit costs money and I have to handle rent
Something’s inside of me — is it guiding or fighting me
A blessing or a curse — for better or for worse
Can’t figure it out for the life of me