| I seen it, it’s lurkin', and it’s dank
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| He’s so preposterous, baby
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| He’s oh so dank, he’s got dilated eyeballs
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| And he’s moving so slowly but he’s got rhymes down to a T
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| You can’t hate on Spose, he’s from the Wells, M-E
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| Dearest fake rapper, please run for cover
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| I’m fucking up the game, I didn’t bring no rubbers
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| Like my parents when they were but Reagan lovers
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| And high school girls are like, «that's Meghan’s brother!»
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| Out at 4:20 and then late for supper
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| Come home later, nuke the grub up out the tupper
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| Where? |
| Wells, Maine. |
| Hair? |
| Dark brown
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| Heineken-chugger acknowledge how it goes down
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| The Cutlass sputters, the blunt girth’s blubbered, my Comfort’s Southern
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| And baby we’re just orangoutangs evolved, I sangadangle the balls
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| Throw your gunts up, Spizzy Spose what he’s called
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| Wells, Maine
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| They call me 'Toine plus talent, minus slurping phallus
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| I’m back, crack rock and Rolls Royce absent
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| Average height though mean on the mic
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| And mode of transportation: dad’s whip or a bike
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| So formally introducing the formerly nerdy
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| Great bro in skate clothes, jock Ezekiel and Hurley
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| Still slept on, me I never wake up early
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| But I stuff white owls call it taxidermy
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| Catch me jocking old Reeboks and dirty socks
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| I know in life things change like an equinox
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| And thus, this is why I’m hot: cause I lack a plot
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| And this fackin' pack of Backwoods is the last crap I bought
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| I’m saying
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| Uh, so get on the wagon, «bastid,» pass the absinthe
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| I got a lack of cash that John Lennon couldn’t imagine
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| Grumpy attitude 'till blunski latitude
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| Gets me higher than you’ve gotta be to get a padded room
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| The sagging of my pants
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| Is also indicative of the slacking in my plans
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| And the baggage in my hands and these weed bags can
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| Vanish quickly like female babies in Japan, or China
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| You know I’m the fuckin' Wells, Maine renegade lyrical elite
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| Teeth not the color of Nintendo Wii
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| We’re jocking sweatpants, fanny-packs, bought that at TJ Maxx
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| Spose turn ganga black, just bought a twenty-sack
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| (Smoke some trees out that bitch) |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Preposterously Dank, artist - Spose. Album song Preposterously Dank, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп