Lyrics Shut Up - Lunar C, Mash

Shut Up

Mash
One Punch Willy
They’re looking like food to me, a battling ship got a lunchbreak
I pray on them like a Sunday, fuckface
I’ve got no chill, people knew my name but I was broke still
The bars were outstanding but so was my phone bill
I came back twice as fat as before
Smoked a dab and recorded this verse sat on the floor
And there’s still dumb bastards that call rapping a sport
I don’t have any flaws, I don’t know what I’m practicing for
I got bigger than Godzilla, not even God’s iller
You’ve been tryna take my spot since I was a lot thinner
Pussy, I’ve had more hot dinners than you’ve had hot dinners
On your couch with your bitch on my lap like a dogsitter
Tell them I’m back on my shit again
I’ve been cold since you was reading Mr. Men
Back when Crazy Titch gave that taxi driver fifty pence
I’ll whoop you like you’re my son, look I’m not one of your little friends
They’re lying if they say they’re rhyming nicer than me
Big fuck off dirty dead fly on my tee
Don’t get tied up and thrown in my cellar
I’m from England, I don’t say words like homie and hella
My aura’s nothing less than godly
I’m better than everybody and I’ll never not be
Pussyhole’s disagree just to be different
So people don’t deserve a fucking opinion
Shut up and listen
Life’s fucked 'cause I’m winning
But still fucking the ugliest women
It’s a juxtaposition
I lift the belly up to adjust the position
Then get into a comfortable rhythm
Then leave, I’m not cuddling with them
You’ll never know if you need to ask
Any time could be your last
Fake killers with your lazy bars, tryna make a earner
So whether your lyrics are true or not, you’re getting away with murder
Spit into the camera like I’m 2Pac or Johnny Rotten
I live like I don’t know God is watching
Fuck your feelings, I ain’t got a conscience
I sold my soul and came back with my guitar like I’m Bobby Johnson
People tell me I’m a sicko
But my bitch loves me to death, she’s a black widow
I was tryna finish this verse but my friends rushed me
I’ll put your cat on a spin-cycle, something something wet pussy
They’re lying if they say they’re rhyming nicer than me
Big fuck off dirty dead fly on my tee
Don’t get tied up and thrown in my cellar
I’m from England, I don’t say words like homie and hella
My aura’s nothing less than godly
I’m better than everybody and I’ll never not be
Pussyhole’s disagree just to be different
So people don’t deserve a fucking opinion
Shut up and listen
They give it the biggen but I see through it
Don’t speak, do it, don’t speak, do it
Bring nothing to the table and you get DDTed through it to theme music,
don’t be stupid