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It's summer, and I'm chillin on my steps with my little crew |
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Just like the videos, just like all the little rappers do |
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We voice love to the heads we know that walk past |
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Sun************ne and smilin, Livin out of a shot glass |
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And I talk fast when it comes to girls |
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Hey baby I'm just a nut tryin to ****** a squirrel |
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Maybe we could shut the world up |
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Let some slug into your life |
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Suddenly she hypes an eyebrow up, like |
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"What do you mean?" and I start buggin like |
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"If I was to fallowed you home would you keep me |
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Would you feed me, would you pet me |
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Would I ****** you till your sleepy?" |
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She said I'm creepy, and walked off |
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Too late, I already got off on the fact you even stopped |
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You knew I'd treat you like an object |
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You knew I was a rapper, you knew it was the trend |
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For us rapper men to disrespect women infront of friends |
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Nonetheless; here comes that kid Sean that I used to be cool with |
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Went to school with, now this kid is talkin fool ************t |
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Gettin supper touchy with his lips about |
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how I stuck his ************ supposedly |
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What the ****** is this supposed to be |
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Sean's got nuts, hes alone, I'm wit crew |
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Now tell me what the ****** I'm supposed to do |
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I spew. Look ?? makes believers of cartoons |
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And I happen to know your ************ sleeps in until the afternoon |
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Honestly, my man, you don't bother me |
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Cause Everybody bleeds, now go and ask your seed who his father be |
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[Chorus] |
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I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
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I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
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I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
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I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
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[Slug] |
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Now Sean kicked my ass, I ain't gonna lie, ain't gonna laugh |
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It wasnt fun, but ****** 'em, I'ma get my gun |
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************t like that gets done in the world of rap |
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If they pu************n on ya vibe, you just a ************ if it slides |
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So I sprint up three flights, Get into the feet whipe on the door |
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Draggin dirt and blood on the rug, and the wood floor |
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Couldn't believe my squad just stood there and watched |
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Word to God, this boy tellin me to blame it on my ****** |
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I'm amped, and I'ma shoot every mother****** out there |
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I'm ill, and I'm gonna prove that ************t when I get back downstairs |
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Into the bedroom, my passion aimed at the closet |
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Visualizing the top shelf, thats where the shoebox is |
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I push the top up, enough to fit my hand in |
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Reach into the box in a frenzy, realizing that it's empty |
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Hand rests in the box, head festers in an open stun |
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Then I remember, I don't even own a gun |
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[Chorus] |
|
"What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What, (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What, What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What, What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What" |
|
I'm like "What, What, What, What" |
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[Outro] |
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Writers Never Die |
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Writers Never Die |
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Writers Never Die |
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Writers Never Die |
