Lyrics Still Bimpin - Spose

Still Bimpin

Shut your fat face
I gotta blurt it in a verse because the twerps is throwing dirt up on my name
It’s Peter Sparker, known to grip it
Quick to skip a parking ticket, double digit, if I get it up in Maine
I got jokes, I’m never funny with the written
Maybe you heard about it
Sunny disposition, with the urine clouded
You’re Derrick Rose on the toilet, making bull crap
Handing me the mic is like the ball to a fullback
Already busted in, too late to pull back
Still got the itch like I been wearing a wool mask
P. Dank’s the symbol to know
I got the nimblest flow under the Timberland cloak
You wanna roll with the evergreens?
Better be dope!
Think you can Park and catch Rec?
Ha, Leslie Knope!
I wanna kill every rapper ending lines with «yo»
Quick to flick a Humpty-Dumpty, leave him dripping with the yolk
And same with these cats ending raps with letters, B
That’s like admitting that you think I’m better, G
You’ll never be as def as me, you wanna end my reverie
They wanna catch me separately and take all of my recipes
They’re yearning for my expertise and burning all my effigies
And lying to the referees and crying to the deputies
I’m thinking, «slow down, lady»
My rhymes dirty as the floor at the ho down, baby
My circle never sounds square any go-round, Amy
Each LP, I got the speech healthy
I’m doing magic tricks with the hand they dealt me
‘Cause I take fan bases, I don’t take selfies, still bimpin'
Still bimpin' in the year one three
It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be
I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be
Now I give it to you peeps to peep, so check it out
Still bimpin' in the year one three
It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be
I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be
He probably made it on the 303
Being true when dispensing my vocals
Got me the dude who invented bifocals
All up in my wallet, bumpin' Illadelph, ill as Hell
Clean bill of health, gorilla smell, still in Wells
I’d rather be smart than cool
Sippin' screwdrivers hammered out in Sanford but I’m far from tool
I’d rather be a good dad, than in the manure
In the sewer, evildoers, cheese-chasing with the hoodrats
So I’m raising my daughter
Her toes pruny in the bath as the raisins I bought her
Mics torn like Achilles, to pay the bill-ies
I went from blazing Phillies to raising Lilys, for really
But you know my steez
Watching Jeopardy while I smoke my trees
I met Mike Be in the year '03
And if I ran for president I bet he’d vote for me, I’m still bimpin'
Still bimpin' in the year one three
It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be
I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be
Now I give it to you freaks to peep, so check it out
Still bimpin' in the year one three
It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be
I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be
I bet he made it on the 303
I was wannabe who turned to an anomaly, my policy is always state facts
Because I’m the only me
So if I tell it how I smell it, never embellish, I could make great tracks
Man, look I came from nothing
So it’s somethin' when I’m bumpin' Smashing Pumpkins when I’m ridin' on a jet
My etymology is
Kept the mic close as Ghostface to Wallabees and always broke a sweat
I stay repping for the Jeff who got the new subs in the old whip
Bumpin' Spose shit on his way to the brew pub
Rappers say they scoop nugs like Snoop does
And they’ll inflict harm ‘cause they got more arms than a group hug
But fuck that, I don’t want the cool points
I just rock the show, get the money, smoke dual joints
But thinking that my rhymes aren’t awesome?
That shit’s forbidden like items at an auction
Because I grinded form the ground up
Back when hashtags wouldn’t pound us
In this spit shit, I met more dicks than the town slut
Back when my bank account was zero, even if you round up
But, I kept grinding like teeth while asleep
Skipped the beach for the beats, no belief in defeat
All my peeps wanna sneak, wanna see Pete deceased
‘Cause I’m on the road more than I’m in the streets
I’m still learning, incomplete in my dome
Repeatedly honed by two women I greet at my home
When I’m reading my poems, that’s me in my zone
I got bars on the tongue like I’m eating my phone, I’m still bimpin'
Still bimpin' in the year one three
It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be
I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be
Now I give it to you freaks to peep, so check it out
Still bimpin' in the year one three
It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be
I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be
I’m sure he made it on the 303, with an NPC
(M-M-Mike-Mike Be)
What’s my man?
Mike Be (Mike Be)
What’s his name?
(Mike Be)
(Mike Be the beatboxer)
(Mike-Mike-Mike-Mike-Mike Be, Mike Be, Mike Be)
Shout out to the whole P. Dank
EA, Cam Groves, Lady E, Shane Reis, Doc Astro
O-O-O-O-Ock Cousteau, let it go, let it flow
S to the P to the O, known to rock the show and then get the dough
Piece in the Nissan whip
You got chicken nuggets, I’ma need a piece of that shit
Break me off some barbeque sauce, hard to get lost
When you get this GPS all up on the iPhone
Dope rhymes off of my dome
They wanna steal all of my poems
Why’s that?
‘Cause their poems suck
Hope somebody shoots their dome up, bloaw!
Leave 'em looking like a donut
I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding, don’t kill people