Lyrics Sweaters - Nacho Picasso

Sweaters

No 9−5, fuck the funny wages
Plus I’m inked up like the fucking funny pages
And when I’m geeked up I be making funny faces
We be paper chasing meet me at the money races
No niggas on the dollar so I think my money’s racist
I blow it all on tats so I think my moneys tasteless
My body is a timeline, my face is something ageless
My tats is like fine wine, your tats is something tasteless
Ten hour back tat I’m awfully sore
Show your whore, rub it in like aquafor
This a tattoo parlor not a tattoo store
Get a hundred tats then I add two more
I increase the peace just to add to war
I’m masterpiece in Jordan IV’s
Paper made ink pours inside my pores
I’m black like the moors, but I act like the doors
There’s is cool, but ours is better
They got sleeves guess we got sweaters
I’m a masterpiece, he just lines and letters
Me I change my skin like I’m Hannibal Lector
Catching up to Nacho, nigga fat chance
I been getting tatted, you just blew your advance
I’m feeling like Nirvana, tattoo’s on my hand
We been wearing flannels, putting stamps on our tramps
In my city with these tats, I’m the tramp to a yamp
Got a vulture on my neck, and a shootout on my back
Niggas moving elbows like an on block attack
Nacho be so fly call it launch pad mcQuack
Ink spots on my body like a Rorschack test
Body marked up, yeah, like a fourth grade desk
In the northwest, like a NorthFace fest
Your girl asks if I want, more face?
Yes
Now I look like a coloring book
Fly as Peter Pan now her phones off the hook
If it was a color you could color me crook
Chicks tryna read my tats like a little black book