Lyrics Cult 45 - Shredders, Sims, P.O.S.

Cult 45

Gangster ass home
Rat killer
Torn because I identify
Cap peeler
Trap filler
Weighs mind
Chilled really tho
Spill a little wine
Blood a Jesus got em faded
Prolly need a little body Christ
Mad gluten tho
Ripin into a camel light (instead)
Caughing shit up
Spit a lung into the bitter night
Faith is not a thing I do
Space is kind of all I need
Prolly break a thing or two
Not too good for the work, but that’s the tip of the berg
Then he bunny hop the curb and he flip em the bird
Put the money where the words from, called in stoned
But he keeps getting checks like keys, wallet, phone
Fuck, fuck, forgot, I’m on that more than ever
The kid a heavy shredder
By any measure couldn’t feel any better
Get out-smoked
And turn an ouch to an ouch joke
Turn a house to a house boat
If it feels good to you
If it feels good to you
If it feels good to you
Do what you like
Right, do what you like
If it feels good to you
If it feels good to you
If it feels good to you
Do what you like
Right, do what you like
I’m sure it’s fine
Livin whatever forever until I flatline
Yeah, catch a ton a breeze
Catch a ton a hell, catch a ton a Z’s
And it ain’t hard either (it ain’t)
Nah, batch a something sweet
Catch em, kill em, cook em (up)
And it ain’t hard either
Grave yard feeder
Since birth
The pace car a beater
A base loss-leader by some way lost geezer
So we paved our kilometers, bing
It’s the ace card keeper
Kid 8 bar eater
Stick game like Jeter, bada boom
Ain’t gotta say a thing
I mean the dude paid his dues
But he never paid the vig
Plan looking like the Bay of Pigs
All I did was play the gig
Did it big from a to zig
Zig zigalla, no big sing along
No oochie wally wally
Just Fugazi and some ollies and a jolly roger
Ay live in concert
But with big no sponsors
Ay we gotta make it sizzzz like an onomatopoeia
I’m on another eon, beyond a number
You see i’m not the one
But if i’m being honest
I see that one you under
You should rock with us
Do what you gotta gotta