[Chorus: Chris Webby]
You shouldn't give a fuck about me
'Cause I don't give a fuck about you
You should probably worry about yourself some time
Trying to chill and get high, ay
[Verse 1: Chris Webby]
Yeah, I'm comin' with that fire that I got in my belly that's stored within'
Crazy since the doc was umbilical cord-snippin'
I'm sword grippin', so you better call up the mortician
As I take my competition and mop up the floor with 'em
They all listen, tracks got 'em hooked like I'm spore fishing
You cannot ignore Christian, I'm future award-winning
Doing key bumps before pitching the fourth inning, and call me Darryl Strawberry in the dugout raw sniffing
The bombs ticking, the second the songs written
They'll all fall victim, and left with their balls missing, like a neutered dog
Kill 'em all, bitch I'm John Wick and never not spitting syllables fitting right on rhythm
Lover of all women, leaving their jaw dripping
Hit it raw like the thoughts ya'll thought were forbidden
Then she rolled it, Oliver Twist like Charles Dickens
Put the lighter to the joint and get high as a Mars mission
Major Tom, Listen, I'm lost on a trek in the stars with spot whippin'
These trees that we breathe are as green as lawn trimmings
But I think I left my LSD in the jar with 'em
Now I'm floating in the sky with diamonds, so uh
No one bother me alright, I'm vibin'
Then I'm, touching down on a private island
Heating up whatever climate I'm in
You shouldn't give a fuck about me
'Cause I don't give a fuck about you
You should probably worry about yourself some time
Trying to chill and get high, ay
[Verse 1: Chris Webby]
Yeah, I'm comin' with that fire that I got in my belly that's stored within'
Crazy since the doc was umbilical cord-snippin'
I'm sword grippin', so you better call up the mortician
As I take my competition and mop up the floor with 'em
They all listen, tracks got 'em hooked like I'm spore fishing
You cannot ignore Christian, I'm future award-winning
Doing key bumps before pitching the fourth inning, and call me Darryl Strawberry in the dugout raw sniffing
The bombs ticking, the second the songs written
They'll all fall victim, and left with their balls missing, like a neutered dog
Kill 'em all, bitch I'm John Wick and never not spitting syllables fitting right on rhythm
Lover of all women, leaving their jaw dripping
Hit it raw like the thoughts ya'll thought were forbidden
Then she rolled it, Oliver Twist like Charles Dickens
Put the lighter to the joint and get high as a Mars mission
Major Tom, Listen, I'm lost on a trek in the stars with spot whippin'
These trees that we breathe are as green as lawn trimmings
But I think I left my LSD in the jar with 'em
Now I'm floating in the sky with diamonds, so uh
No one bother me alright, I'm vibin'
Then I'm, touching down on a private island
Heating up whatever climate I'm in
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!