Lyrics:
Deal aus
Um "Danke" zu sagen für alles, was mich freut
Schenk ich diesen Track, so
Lang wie ein Album, nun euch
Ich schrieb hundert
Zweihundert,
The guide is bitten by the beast
At the hand, the arm, the head!
SINGAYA!
This abominable beast was closed in a zoo
A bad old woman was in front of the cage
Pussy bitch, I bet my glizzy 'll blow your socks off
If he's creeping like a zombie, blow his head off
Like a tumor, if you play me you get cut off
verbs
Celph Titled and the AOTP alliance
Will travel back in time
Smack ya, have your baby teeth flying
I am Rob Zombie, I am the Omni of dishonesty
I'm
fuckin' hands at the concert
I'ma need to see your fuckin' hands
Uh, the best livin' or dead hands down, huh
Less talk, more head right now, huh
to wipe their albums down
Devils only come amongst you if you allow them now
Due to trade they infiltrate with persuasion
Their desire to rob and steal
woman) I want his wife
I'm the type to go to gamblin' parties with trick dice
I rob casinos, slugs, eat those
You'd think it was the devil feedin' you
fuckin' hands at the concert
I'ma need to see your fuckin' hands
Uh, the best livin' or dead hands down, huh
Less talk, more head right now, huh
(this week)
I need some head 'til I get weak (uh)
GemStar at your wind piece (uh)
Black .40 match the Benz seats (ooh)
I might pull up more than 10
cursive style
Motherfuckers be tattle tailing like they taking names
So when they take a son they drive by I'll be taking aim
Pressure to pian, are you able
in music
Over the last decade
WEST: I wasn't even nominated for Best
Album this year this year
I only got two nominations
By the Grammys: for
Best Rap
you jump hoe
Ain't no ten a g fifteen it funk hoe
You smoke on this shit and you turn to a zombie
And this have yo ass trippin you clumsy
This shit it
McDonald's when I move in packs
Quarter-Pound Supersized bullets and Big Mac's
House longer than I-70, arise ten stories
And I still "Rob" niggas just like
there's no faucets by my pillow
When I close my eyes
Album cover art by Tool appears
Pull up to the party
I been sipping' Robotussin
Shuffle through
niestety mam problem u mnie to się nie sprawdza
Nastaw się na ten przekaz nie uciekaj przed światem
Nie udawaj że nie ma 15 letnich matek
Jestem taki jak
A'ight then, listen to mine
I jump in a costume impromptu just to rob you
Put the nozzle to your eye ball and tell you what not to do
Rip your tonsils out
Covers, videos and all that shit
Fuck you post-Drake-ass cliche-jerking, LA-Slauson rapping
Fuck-nigga-ass Hypebeast niggas, now back to the album
like I make you go wonder
I'm climbing these hills you can go call it hunger
I been stuck in my head for some days and some nights
I'm better off dead
Kicked my auntie in the head by mistake
(Huh?) 'Cause I found out that she
Sipped the whole eight (Uh huh?)
I'm that type of nigga to
Go spit in your face
Purge
Written, recorded, produced, engineered, & performed by Broc Jesch (Breezy)
1st Verse
Once a year it is anarchy pure insanity so I broke in
to em
I'm tired of rappers just sliding by
With z a y ain't no bypass
You can't get pass without an I-pass
Stop mumble rapping nigga let it go
This
Ain't gotta put a hand on 'em (Put a hand)
Ten toes, stand on 'em
Going up, won't land on 'em
Ain't keeping track of old
Friends, he went broke, they ran
like a movie
Scene by scene
I'm living it like I'm in the jungle
I be moving i'm not a zombie
But still, tell my Mom I'm sorry
High again, like a meteor
and FancyCat di duppy a promote
Bout how him buss di pussy
Head wid 'e telescope
Never buss a bump ina face
A weh him a smokе?
Him never kill a chicken yеt
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