| Earl and Tyler obliterate a Bangladesh beat. Earl's verse: So I'm guessin' there's questions that need adressin' huh? Like how we fresh in our adolescence and wreckin' em. Hear new tracks, he destined to make a mess of em, Snappin' necks and records in matter of seconds check em son. Lost an erection and found it in an aggressive nun. Fuckin' chin-checkin punks 'til he's out of breath and done, No affection, he's doper than cess sessions son Chillin' for a while on a pile of the rest of em. Let the crowd choose who can fuckin' last longer, it's the rap monger, rap monster Earl Sweat attack, conquer. Lose least, niggas lost like the last blanca chica that we picked up at the last concert, Please, get out ya seat, get out ya seat, verses written with scalpels, he's the junior king standin' out shoutin' on the balcony, How come he's not in counseling? Fucker's loud while he's sound asleep Heard he was dope as Sour D. Nigga was Courage cowardly? State Gold, alchemy, nigga we rap's Alpha Team, Mr. Teen and Mr. T with a mouth full of powder and a nose full of chowder, he's chopping up all the doubters, see now watch him count the bodies like bitches be countin' calories Tyler's verse: Fuck with the wolves we startin' to bark viciously, Catch us in a pile of bodies where dead bitches be, Box logo hoodies and goodies from buddies that understand that bastard was buzzin like Woody so we get it for free. Had to duct tape the mother goose the mask was off, I stumbled down a hill ... |
