lyrics
Mister twisted-in-the-head last seen flyin’ coach, braggin’
roachin’ crazy hazy days on the band wagon
saggin’ slightly in the pants, stance awkward as fedoras
gimme two or more reasons why these antics shouldn’t bore us
‘Bout time you look for filler
kill a crappy-ass rapper with a lyrical solilo-
“Cui-Cui” Motherfuckers! It’s the Birdie in the house,
shittin’ on the beat, skeet-skeet shooters finna’ bow
down to the pleasure of the verbal verbosity,
take another hit of the herbal monstrosity
livin’ off the snare like he poach a damn rabbit,
puntin’ nuns in the rear like he’s kicking the habit,
sick addiction to the flow, slick friction on the bars
hoppin’, choppin’ beets faster than the chef to the czar
We go on motherfuckin’ instinct
auto-tuna lance bass, catch us bumpin’ ‘n sync
sinkin’ to the floor, put her tushie in the air
double team her wide receiver like a double-dog-dare
And if the rap ain’t funny
curb stomp a bee’s knees till he’s beggin’ for your honey
slow it down now girly
whip your tits like a bloodhound bounding to the early
bird special as they come, beg-beggin for the scraps,
even leavin’ plates clean when I polish all the raps
slow it down now boys,
watchin’ grown-ass men rockin’ little-ass toys
as I got the little ladies hot and bothered with the spoken word,
makin all the poets stop and grovel at the tokin’ bird
Givin’ like it’s gift-rap crappin’ out your speaker
man o’ peace, secret santa, and a fuckin’ cheerleader
cookin’ lyrics in the kitchen -- chile sauce murders it
fancy ass rhymes like he’s bakin’ ‘em with herbs ‘n shit
He’s the epitome of good taste
smoother than a razor shave her legs below the damn waist,
face it kid, show’s over, “get to da choppa”
hella copped a feel, kneelin’ like a prince to his pauper,
lyin’ like he’s Nala, livin’ it like yolo,
stark raven mad, call the Edgar Allen “Po-Po”.
slow it down now girly
whip your tits like a bloodhound bounding to the early
bird special as they come, beg-beggin for the scraps,
even leavin’ plates clean when I polish all the raps
slow it down now boys,
watchin’ grown-ass men rockin’ little-ass toys
as I got the little ladies hot and bothered with the spoken word,
makin all the poets stop and grovel at the tokin’ bird.
credits
from
Slug Life,
track released November 17, 2013
Production/beetz/keyboard: Deemetry Treto
Writing/vox/bass/clarinet: Edison Mellor-Goldman
license