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Watch me get this money, bitch; tired of being hungry, bitc
Nothing funny, sass me while I'm thrashing, I'mma punch you, bitch
Never made of plastic, I'm a savage -- you look lunch, my nigga
Passing all you hating ****ing fags, we don't discuss, my bitc
We ain't on no jolly shit and we don't pop no Mollies, bitc
I'm hocking, spitting, got some niggas out here popping Ollie switc
Buncha novices, Odd Future the squad is thick
Them young niggas is back and brash, attacking with no common sens
We the last of a dying breed
And we don't give a ****, so we cannot supply your need
You stupid bitches who had said our hype is dying, pleas
My pockets solid, making profit off the highest tees
Bitch, merch twerk as I get on the verse, cursin
****ing Dom so cool, I refer him in third perso
Watch me get this money, I'm up when the birds chirping
Make actions, bitch rehearsin
Bitch, summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four, three-sixty-fiv
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, I don't have plenty tim
Flying out at any time, getting money, any grind
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, you mother****ers gonna give me min
Bitch, summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four, three-sixty-fiv
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, I don't have plenty tim
Flying out at any time, getting money, any grind
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, you mother****ers gonna give me min
In a world where kids my age are popping Mollies with leather
Sitting on Tumblr, never outside or enjoying the weather
Can name a sweater, but not a talent or don't know if whether
Or not they got one, tried to change their life for the better
I was the drama club kid, I run where the fun did, my nuts itched
I was defiant, always said, "**** that bitch
Hated the popular ones, now I'm the popular one
Also hated homes too, til I start coppin' me some
See I don't beez in the trap, bitch, I beez in the b'
And I be gassing up my buzz like some bees at a Shell
****ing sick and getting bigger like I sneezed on Adel
And niggas getting touchy-feely like they reading some Braill
I bust quick like gun-holders with short tempers, and well
I tried to tell the kids, like **** it, start being yoursel
These ****ing rappers got stylists cause they can't think for themselve
See, they don't have an identity, so they needed some help, but
Really, boy? Poseurs looking silly, boy
I'm in that past season 'Preme shit, older than Tity Bo
Not a diss, but same with ice cream, my shit is Diddy Ries
Na'kel Smith, Transworld page 64
Poppin' like oil ollie in fire flames
I'm harder than DJ Khaled playing the ****ing quiet gam
The nigga am I saying? Tyler's not even a violent name
About as threatening as stained windbreakers in hurricanes
But he rapes women, and spit wrong, like he hates dentists
God damn menace, 666 and he's not finished
And my nigga's missing, he hates women, but love kittens
See y'all niggas tripping, man
Look at that article that says my subject matter is wrong
Saying I hate gays even though Frank is on 10 of my songs
Look at that Mom who thinks I'm evil, hold that grudge against me
Though I'm the reason that her mother****ing son got to eat
Look at the kid who had the 9 and tried to blow out his mind
But talk is money, I said, "Hi," I guess I bought him some time
Look at the ones in the crowd -- that nigga is barnacles, huh?
They thought I wasn't fair until I threw a carnival, huh?
But then again, I'm an atheist that just wor*************ps Satan
And it's probably why I'm not getting no ****ing album placements
And MTV could suck my dick, and I ain't ****ing playing
Bruh, they never played it, I just won't ****ing for they ****ing ratings
****ing fans are getting sick of the rape
All the "Tron Cat" fans are getting sick of the lakes
But what about me, bitches? I'm getting sick of complaints
But I don't hate it when I'm taking daily trips to the bank
Oh but no but, mother****er, who really gives a **** what I think?
My fans don't, they turning on me, bitch, they're almost extinct
****ing buying studio time, I'mma go purchase a shrink
Record the session and send all you mother****ers a link, bitch
Bitch, summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four, three-sixty-fiv
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, I don't have plenty tim
Flying out at any time, getting money, any grind
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, you mother****ers gonna give me min
Bitch, summer, fall, wintertime, twenty-four, three-sixty-fiv
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, I don't have plenty tim
Flying out at any time, getting money, any grind
You mother****ers gonna give me mine, you mother****ers gonna give me min
This shit just like the nights I look forward to not remembering
So much for being sober, I hope that you can forgive me
But Momma, I'm close to the edge as possible (Why don't you jump, you ****ing bitch?)
All I鈥檓 seeing is the drop in my ocular, jumping like they told me
That the 40's half off, like you know that cliff
Don't need a therapist to tell him he could float that ****ing shit (****ing bastards
Or get compared to ****ing pair with all the program kid
So maybe a pair of pale mother****ers for the gonads lick (I'll show you
Malt liquor filling me up, and all us not giving no **** and
All of them sensitive chumps in awe when that pistol erupts (Pistol, I got one!)
Dirty one spitting that sumpy raw till his wrists in the cuffs
Brother the Pigeons is us
Bid you goodnight and good luck
(Oh, shut the **** up!
(Gunshot)
Samuel's here! Where's Wolf? ****ing asshole. Salem was mine, bitch! Was that good enough, you ****ing prick
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