| There ain’t nobody to be pretty for, fuck it, let it rattle
|
| Let the clatter kill 'em, let the cataclysm wash
|
| Who really listens? |
| Precision with a verse draws a crowd
|
| I draw a line between an easy melody and piece of mind
|
| I keep the game tweaked, freak the same
|
| To its own thing, spit the plain pain
|
| Econolines for the dime class, it’s a goddamn recession
|
| (C'mon) Show a little respect you Pfizer babies
|
| Look at how they hate, pilled out, bounce they liver off they top eight
|
| Who got a fix for the fix? |
| Bush no more
|
| Nobody’s like «Dufresne, search party of four»
|
| Tell me, who’s eating? |
| I mean well
|
| Who’s beaten shell toes kick a hole in who’s cheating hell?
|
| Need it while you can, serve, get swerved, get sleep
|
| Buy it up c’mon, uh huh
|
| They out for presidents to represent them
|
| You think a president could represent you?
|
| You really think a president would represent you? |
| (right)
|
| They call me P.O.S., bold from the go to the goal
|
| To them ice cold bones, freezing in that Minnesota snow
|
| Heating up the winter with the flow
|
| They make it rain, rain, rain go away
|
| Come again brave, or when you bring a bit to help us grow
|
| (Meanwhile) We them pro parade-rainers
|
| Presented by the Doomtree, sponsored by the Rhymesayers
|
| No-brainer if you aim at the aimless
|
| The same small change big drain on my patience
|
| (It's) my act, my scene, my play, my stage
|
| My lines, my way, all day, all style plus guts (c'mon)
|
| Cap cut, no fresh, no clean, all press, yes mean
|
| Swoosh, removed, lose the cool, choose whatever behooves the dude
|
| Move through any mood with ease
|
| Ravage the rules, ravishing mood, Randy Savage the fools
|
| Handy with tools, cutting my own key
|
| Cattle to meat, sheep splitter, kennel killer
|
| Handmade hand-gunner, fan-blade runner, huh?
|
| Promise of skill, better than blessed, promise of stress
|
| Living and breathing, motherfuck all the rest
|
| Now what do you do… exactly?
|
| N-not, not exactly like you don’t do anything exactly
|
| But more like, what exactly do you do?
|
| They hide their eyes and can’t describe what they been missing
|
| They fire blind and can’t describe what they been laying down
|
| They laying down
|
| They hide their eyes and can’t describe what they been missing
|
| They fire blind and can’t describe what they been laying down
|
| They laying down
|
| They hide their eyes and can’t describe what they been missing
|
| They fire blind and can’t describe what they been laying down
|
| They laying down
|
| I can’t tell if it’s the bees or the sting
|
| The honey or the wax on the wing
|
| But people just Walmart what they worth, roll back
|
| They don’t get to pick what you deserve
|
| What exactly do you do Sir? |
| (we serve)
|
| What exactly do you do Miss? |
| (we take)
|
| Tell me who the hell are you? |
| You’re out of your element Donny, shut up
|
| Double, double eat up, ride, the Dude abides
|
| They hide their eyes and can’t describe what they been missing
|
| They fire blind and can’t describe what they been laying down
|
| They laying down |