Lyrics Nothin' But Business - Slaine

Nothin' But Business

Microphone check 1, 2, what is this?
Microphone check 1, 2, what is this?
YEAH!
I’m the stage crasher
High out my mind at the rave bastard
Despised by the mass-media call the gay basher
Every statement that I make stays for days after
Internet pussies LOLin with the brave laughter
Some backpacker try an battle me i’ll slap ya
This me, This is how I had ta be, I mean it has ta
Every minute I’m alive is an obscene disaster
I like the dark, it’s in my heart, fuck a greener pasture
I’m withdrawn from all the fucking shit I’m on
Living wrong, hear my hatred seep through every bitter song
Sleep on me, you’re a sheep, you’re a coward, I’m a creep
Hold a blade to your neck, shove it in deep
My records runnin' the streets, reckless son of a beach, punned up freak
Only dealin' G’s that’s my steez, I make a hundred a week
Dime pieces suck me 'til I come in the cheek, under the sheets
Dumb as they can be they call it ignorance, it’s money to me
Fuck the world dog I’m staying with the cash on me
I ain’t hard to find, go ahead and ask for me
Microphone check 1, 2, what is this?
You can take it personal it’s nothing but business
A little weed smoke, and some liquor
Throw your motherfucking hands in the air
We got a eight ball and some bitches
Put your motherfucking hands in the air
Wow, lost in the high wave
Amber Rose smirnoff shots top with high grain
Two hoes they tops exposed low grade
C’s D’s and ass with a pro rate
You playin' a probate, lockin her to the home
I’m letting her live the porn way, she locked to a bone
I’m menage in my home, you moist palm and grown
With your wife in the next room playing BR’s songs
You playing all wrong, she ain’t paying the coaches salary
Can’t be Mickey and Mallory no more
Just pimpin' at my home with a flat in Cabo
They fax my next flow, flip text with escrows, so pass the XO
I’m drunk and it doesn’t bother me
Since I ain’t living in poverty no more
This the panoramic roof with the two tone flow
And I don’t need to know shit if I do know dough
So
Fuck the world dog I’m staying with the cash on me
I ain’t hard to find, go ahead and ask for me
Microphone check 1, 2, what is this?
You can take it personal it’s nothing but business
A little weed smoke, and some liquor
Throw your motherfucking hands in the air
We got a eight ball and some bitches
Put your motherfucking hands in the air
Who’s nastier?, No one spit the news raspier
I’ll chew half of ya
My crews after you, Massacre
In the street making cake flip, No spatula
Passenger, In the acura with a after puff
Laughing, But ain’t nothing funny but the money
I’m hungry, You give me counterfeit you take it from me
I throw your ass off a fucking bridge and cut the bungees
Spit a lungie from my tummy on your corpse you fucking dummy
If you do survive you be looking like the mummy
The new Hefner, turn your bitch into my bunny
Pour some gin for me, Patrone second round
Grey Goose 80 proof mix it up, Put it down
Ahh throw your hands up, throw your grands up
Get your man smacked just for tryin to hand cuff
Get a damn slut to get my glands buffed in my man’s truck
On the camera, that’s the plan it’s your man Knuck
Fuck the world dog I’m staying with the cash on me
I ain’t hard to find, go ahead and ask for me
Microphone check 1, 2, what is this?
You can take it personal it’s nothing but business
A little weed smoke, and some liquor
Throw your motherfucking hands in the air
We got a eight ball and some bitches
Put your motherfucking hands in the air