Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Lets Swing, artist - NIGHTWALKER
Date of issue: 06.06.2011
Song language: English
Lets Swing |
Yeah, yo |
You might catch me at the local pub, postin' up Bud Light |
Loving life with breathren, step into the thug type |
To starting dumb fights, but you ain’t tryna do shit |
Plus your hat looks like it’s four sizes too big |
I’ll strangle you fags with your doorags |
Nice bedazzled shirt homie, you look like a douchebag |
And it’s too bad that I don’t like to wear fake shit |
'Cause I would love to smack that face with your chain, and snatch your bracelet |
Save it, I’ll put your tan face on the dirt |
Keep starrin' at my girl, she’s laughing at your Ed Hardy shirt |
You ain’t hardly worth the five cent deposit on the bottle |
That’s about to smash your face if you pop shit |
Don’t get obnoxious, 'cause we can step out-fuckin-side |
And do you like a condom, fuck with you and bust inside |
I’m not impressed by you talking about your gun |
And I don’t associate your rep with the town your from |
Let’s swing, when I’m talkin', let’s show 'em how we walkin' |
Let’s swing, around me this shit happen very often |
Let’s swing, swing 'til there’s nothing left to swing at |
Hey yo, tell 'em where the fuck you’ve been at |
I’ll smack the gel off your head while you faggots pump your fist |
And you girls are gross, I wouldn’t even let you suck my dick |
Orange faces and fake tits, nose jobs and spray tans |
Covering your busted face with Ray Jams ←-(?), that’s just disgusting |
I ain’t even tryin' to hate man |
But I’d be a techno DJ if I wanted gay fans |
I can’t break dance, but I could break your man’s arm properly |
And I don’t give a fuck if the security guard’s watching me |
I came to get a drink, and find some weird chicks with pierced tits |
You came here to dance on some queer shit |
My beard’s thick, plus I’m dressed like a scumbag |
And I still get more women than dumb fags |
Your girl’s a cunt rag, money hungry, materialistic bitch |
With a thousand dollar pocketbook, with nothing in the shit |
I’m sick of it, so when you see a dude like me |
Clear a mothafuckin' path before I run your jewelry |
Yeah, yo |
My favorite shit is the cats at rap shows |
With black flows, dressed like a bunch of assholes |
Loud mouths talkin' about guns and the gangs they’re in |
And it’s always the wackest dudes that they end up managing |
So when the crowd don’t show them love they take it personally |
Like they do when I don’t give them beats or verses for free |
Homie, you ain’t murdering me, so don’t even fuckin' tempt me |
If you were hard, instead of screaming you would’ve swung already |
And something tells me that your girl ain’t really happy |
'Cause while you went to buy her a drink, she was hollering at me |
But I don’t want that bitch, I got my own chicks |
And my crew was packin' venues out back in '06 |
Please, I throw fists like I throw parties |
You throw fits, and hate on me 'cause I spit dope shit |
Know this, I do this for the love, but I will fight |
And if you think I’m talkin' about you, you’re probably right |