Lyrics
and when i finally develop emphysema
So would you please put it out, sounding like a scratched vinyl record of an old obama speech
And he sees the whole scene, and then i ll mount you on my mantle like a walleye bass
I don t place value on trophies thespians clutch, rapping and entered that chili cook-off, you gotta respect the children
But you are inscribed on the list of people i am not inspired by, there s no smoking in the house
the game ends and the fun fades
Like mario lemieux, no smoking in the house
I ll probably see you next when we re in hell, then i ll go and get domesticated with a boring wife, urban dictionary that
You re a story of regret people bitterly tell, cause living with sobriety s excruciating pain
With no strings attached like a velcro shoe, you a measly schmuck, i ll probably scream
senior citizen livin off moonshine and pizza
I think your heroes suck, it won t matter
deadly like them little stingers on top of a scorpion
Get away with more loot than bernie madoff, well she just gave her hotel information to my merch girl, no smoking in the house
I say you must be joking, i ll even get a tribal doctor to vouch
He really took the golf nasty with a pitching wedge, blood splashes
i ll buy a shotgun for permanent anesthesia
one last record then i ll quit the touring life
Cause living with sobriety s excruciating pain, and i m high as a motherfucker, and i know this a rhyme not a diatribe
You a measly schmuck, not a bat of the eyes at the academy prize
the lettering is blotchy with burn holes from smoking
Cause even my dumb shit is too much for em intellectually, i ve been cracked for awhile like the liberty bell
so would you please put it out
we tall like pogo and pau gasol
Let them decide for themselves what kind of poisonous nonsense they wanna put, y all little like ford fiats, i say you must be joking
Well of course over your head s where my lyricism s going, there s no smoking in the house, kneeling in the desert in that orange jumpsuit
You s an oompa loompa, and to think you thought she was a church girl
I make the best polka player drop his accordion, don t even waste my time, like gandhi s dream
your list make these rappers conceited
prepare to roll a few when my album leak
Way back when your mother s hymen was intact, we in this bitch, it s that type of performance i badly despise
Kneeling in the desert in that orange jumpsuit, you re a story of regret people bitterly tell In, and get nothing but the finger like when lesbians touch
My team super, or i practice taxidermy and my client killed a bear The, i m a dubstep version of the cosby theme
and sees me covered in blood like a maniac s bib
In they lungs, and ain t a damn thing changed In, i don t place value on trophies thespians clutch
And sees me covered in blood like a maniac s bib, get out of kansas and visit some other states, he sees writings on the wall looking like mad libs
i make the best poker player stop with the tournaments
Pointing at their trophy wives like i met that bitch at whole foods, with no strings attached like a velcro shoe, cause i ma sell those too
Please put it out, we stick together like bird s of a feather, deadly like them little stingers on top of a scorpion
Or i practice taxidermy and my client killed a bear, you re an example of the failure of the american public school
So if you re considered hot then consider me hell, so if your mic s cordless i hope your battery dies
only thing changed is the phrase no smoking in the house
the tracks we drop are basquiats
I wouldn t give one flying sixteenth of a fuck, deadly like them little stingers on top of a scorpion
And the thing i desire s a hallucinating brain, you wanna fuck with me you best cop a delorean
in certain kinds of ways
I just wanna pay my debts off without a bill to spare, i ve been cracked for awhile like the liberty bell
I make fun of em and give zero fucks, in an old school way, telling me them fucking lies