[Verse 1: Viktor Vaughn]
Vik, the wild islander, bringing out the child in ya
Singing out the silencer with more violence than "Heil Hitler"
He get some looks, some bullshit roll-over, a dusty pullover and a Pulitzer
A must we bust your crusty subwoofer system
Foes is just bluffin', clear your nose from huff-puffin'
A glutton for bludgeoning blood gushin', here ya go, studmuffin
It’s nothin', get it on the get-by
Bet it on a dead guy, jet it on the red eye
Too many make mistake fillers, not enough live wires
Too many fake killers, and jive sires
Dropped these bombs on a critic from a grass knoll
Everybody got one, your mom's is a asshole
S.O.B. and smug to the utmost
Cut it close and catch a slug to the gut Mos, word to Thutmose
What's worse, clutch your purse close, lady
We get more cheese bread for the baby, toast to Grady, one-eighty
[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
I'm in the cut looking for some puss to pick apart
Dirty like us riding in the whip that really isn't ours
Storming out the door, don't press record, I hate my fuckin voice
Trying to kill that noise, performing fill that void slightly
I'm swimming in water that's been dicey since landing
And I'm owing these niggas nothing like all that I've been handed
For free, don't pan your cameras to me
Ho, don't command me to speak
Got these little niggas swinging from the banister, on 'Fax in his pajamas
Walking slow because the camels keep his stamina weak
And you could catch him like some halibut after a bad accident
Trying to get jaw-jacked right where the catheter peeks out
Villain, Earl, and Captain in command of your street now
Rapping good as motherfucking janitors sweep now
Getting business handled, get the cannabis cheap now
It's a bunch of nuggets on him like it's sand on a beach towel
Vik, the wild islander, bringing out the child in ya
Singing out the silencer with more violence than "Heil Hitler"
He get some looks, some bullshit roll-over, a dusty pullover and a Pulitzer
A must we bust your crusty subwoofer system
Foes is just bluffin', clear your nose from huff-puffin'
A glutton for bludgeoning blood gushin', here ya go, studmuffin
It’s nothin', get it on the get-by
Bet it on a dead guy, jet it on the red eye
Too many make mistake fillers, not enough live wires
Too many fake killers, and jive sires
Dropped these bombs on a critic from a grass knoll
Everybody got one, your mom's is a asshole
S.O.B. and smug to the utmost
Cut it close and catch a slug to the gut Mos, word to Thutmose
What's worse, clutch your purse close, lady
We get more cheese bread for the baby, toast to Grady, one-eighty
[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
I'm in the cut looking for some puss to pick apart
Dirty like us riding in the whip that really isn't ours
Storming out the door, don't press record, I hate my fuckin voice
Trying to kill that noise, performing fill that void slightly
I'm swimming in water that's been dicey since landing
And I'm owing these niggas nothing like all that I've been handed
For free, don't pan your cameras to me
Ho, don't command me to speak
Got these little niggas swinging from the banister, on 'Fax in his pajamas
Walking slow because the camels keep his stamina weak
And you could catch him like some halibut after a bad accident
Trying to get jaw-jacked right where the catheter peeks out
Villain, Earl, and Captain in command of your street now
Rapping good as motherfucking janitors sweep now
Getting business handled, get the cannabis cheap now
It's a bunch of nuggets on him like it's sand on a beach towel
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