[Verse 1: Jarren Benton]
(What happened to Funk Volume nigga?)
Ain't no more fucking Funk Volume
All you niggas get is Mr. Benton
I got them pussy niggas shitting kittens
I guillotine the fucking competition
I "what up" to my niggas still in prison
I'm still drunk and high, I'm on prescription
*Drugs*
Jesus, who the fuck I gotta sell my soul to to get it popping nigga
And when you see me keep it moving show me love and don't ask me no questions about Hopsin nigga
Oh lord I'm on my own I'm about to have a nervous breakdown
Ass up face down that's the way the industry fuck you nigga its east side a-town
Full-turnt like a-town
This the bully beat a motherfucker's ass on the playground
Your homeboy like "Jesus he's a sick son of a bitch, a maniac, play dead, stay down"
My homeboy still stirring up the pot
Remember we didn't have a fucking pot to piss in and we was sleeping on the cot
Man nigga popping hoes eating up the cock
I got a new trap J's geeking on the rocks
And that's a metaphor for rap weighing on the stop
I snipe a nigga with a sniper rifle have him lookin like he JFK, the mothafucka leaning out the drop like *pop*
Yeah
Tell these bad whores Mr. Benton on the market
I hops in a pussy and no I'm not talking 'bout Marcus
I bodied a booth in the beat, oh now I smell a carcass
I tear up the club, snap his neck, break his bones and his cartilage
Jarren stop talking like that, oh my God you have children there
I give a fuck what you saying bitch we bout to be billionaires
(What happened to Funk Volume nigga?)
Ain't no more fucking Funk Volume
All you niggas get is Mr. Benton
I got them pussy niggas shitting kittens
I guillotine the fucking competition
I "what up" to my niggas still in prison
I'm still drunk and high, I'm on prescription
*Drugs*
Jesus, who the fuck I gotta sell my soul to to get it popping nigga
And when you see me keep it moving show me love and don't ask me no questions about Hopsin nigga
Oh lord I'm on my own I'm about to have a nervous breakdown
Ass up face down that's the way the industry fuck you nigga its east side a-town
Full-turnt like a-town
This the bully beat a motherfucker's ass on the playground
Your homeboy like "Jesus he's a sick son of a bitch, a maniac, play dead, stay down"
My homeboy still stirring up the pot
Remember we didn't have a fucking pot to piss in and we was sleeping on the cot
Man nigga popping hoes eating up the cock
I got a new trap J's geeking on the rocks
And that's a metaphor for rap weighing on the stop
I snipe a nigga with a sniper rifle have him lookin like he JFK, the mothafucka leaning out the drop like *pop*
Yeah
Tell these bad whores Mr. Benton on the market
I hops in a pussy and no I'm not talking 'bout Marcus
I bodied a booth in the beat, oh now I smell a carcass
I tear up the club, snap his neck, break his bones and his cartilage
Jarren stop talking like that, oh my God you have children there
I give a fuck what you saying bitch we bout to be billionaires
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