Beef (Remix) Upchurch

[Intro]
Helluva made this beat, baby
Church
Motherfuckers
'Bout gettin' sick of the God damn rap game
Uhh
Everybody wanna fuckin' be like
"Hey man! Hey man! Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I?"
"Can you fuck off for a minute?"
"Let a motherfucker do what a motherfucker does"

[Verse 1]
2019, this year I'm goin' savage mode
Billboard chartin' rapper, I don't know these folks around me though
Ain't it crazy the impact the demographic is so drastic
That a county kid can take the plastic
Off an album and unwrap it and think, God damnit it's slappin'
Put it in the radio and turn it up to the static
'Til it rattles the dashes of the cars that are passin'
Hangin' out the windows lookin' like the band Metallica
Yeah I'm Jeepers Creepers creepin' in the Jeep Wrangler, stranger
I'm a goat not a God, I'm here to guard the manger
And if you want to head butt somebody
Bitch I'm Michael Moore on the mic, North Carolina
Yeah, I got more skins then Buffalo Bob did
Except for I don't hate mine, we ridin' deep in this bitch
And everybody know what it is baby Creek Squad
Bitch I'm young 'til I'm young and can't old no more
We ain't rockin' bandanas 'round here, that's a no go
Better wave at me when you drivin' down my back road
I just lead the pack, sharp teeth like a raptor
Smokin' Barnie's in a blunt, pussy ass herbivore
Walkin' like McGregor, swingin' arms through my corridor
Jeans drippin' water all over my fuckin' marble floor
My everyday life is like a battle for existence
My assistant sayin' someone on the Gram talkin' reckless
I tell her, fuck 'em, let 'em end up on my plate
When I eat breakfast I put a checkmark by they face
Yeah, I'm the Cryptkeeper let me take you to a infinite place
A rip in this space, you'll be an infinite taste
I got the sauce motherfucker, white girls want to hang
And when I turn the sauce up, black girls know my slang
I'm the Dixieland man, 28's on the Monte trunk
Thumpin' hard in the game, call that shit Jumanji
On the edge of my seat, lookin' 'round for who want it
Have your eyeballs pop like "Oh my God Ronny"
I can't even grow a beard so I guess I look normal
Shoutout to Machine Gun Kelly, I'm Remington Ryan homie
Just kiddin', just Church, even when it's not a Sunday
Praise God and every other man pavin' his own way
My yellow lines were faded but I took a break and got 'em repainted
So don't swerve unless you insurance gon' claim it
Fresh, that's what kind of fuckin' music I make
Country music, shootin' ducks, eat this whole mud cake
You got no heat that's why you do not actually bake
No flame, you flop like a waffle inside a microwave
Tobacco twist I be chewin' on homeboy
Sink my teeth into your jugular as my encore
Have shawty in them Apple Bottoms like "Oh Lord"
Why that white boy over there go so hard boy?
'Cause I'm a boss God dangit, don't be lookin' at me weird ho
I'll be takin' selfies like Shady LP from 9-0's
River Rat workin' in that shot and for certain truck
Bed got a tarp, I ain't rich enough for curtains bitch
I'm on my own, stay the fuck out of my zone
I drink your blood out a Lil Wayne's Styrofoam
I am the fireman, but don't call the department
'Cause by the time they put it out, 10 others have already started
I'm sick of playin' and LARPin', I pull the sword from the stone
I feelin' bad to the bone, like who the fuck wanna go
I feel like I just left Marathon Music Works
Now my spine don't work, drivin' home with a smirk
I'm on that Grey Goose, and I don't owe anybody
Shoutout to Allstar, my car lookin' hella hue and foggy
Settin' in the cut, listenin' to life story
Thinkin' damn that man was hungry, he started up at the lunch table
I don't need to catchup, they musta heard I toast the burnt bread
And if you sleepin' on me then I guess I burned your bed
I hope it ain't Tempur-Pedic, that shits kinda expensive
Leave you on the box spring and take the mattress home with me
Church