Bombs

Y’all don’t really want no part of this
The bars hit like parking cars in apartments
Darken the mark and embark on a journey
You bark and depart on a gurney
Call your attorney, give a guy a ring
Carry a tune, the canary’ll sing
Bury the goons ‘till the king turn queen
And he gets confused with Ariel Pink
Hair in a sink- Balling ‘em up
I’d get a CD if y’all didn’t suck
And if I wanted to hear that same exact trap beat again
Not content with uneventful, dense in the mental cunts pretending to be men
I contend with meddling mind-state
Riding a grey line in the middle of a rhyme and a pen
I will extend a Midas touch
Golden son, stylish fuck
Rhyme-galloping, high-caliber upper-classman
It’s the upper-echelon
Get your tanks and bombs, bombs and guns
You little zombies oughta blast him
But never that, Jack- Actually half of these backpack rappers are raggedy
After we battle I’m bagging ‘em up and I’m stashing the bag in a beat up V-Dub
trunk
I can see the dumb fucks coming in swarms tryina test it
I’m leaving ‘em black and blue- Crack a tooth with my erection
Checkmate
Check on your girl when the best in the green state flex on the world
Y’all don’t really know what you’re doing do ya'?
Make a move and I’ma take it to ya'
Next day
You’re gonna wanna curl in ball and die, I’m making ‘em hurl
Covered in bruises, tryina lose him
Hide your booze and hire the movers
Loser
Get your face the fuck up out my section
‘Fore I take your dame to lover’s lane and get a brain inspection
Cute words said will never usher a response
If these anvils ain’t enough, I’m dropping bombs