Beef (Remix)

Helluva made this beat, baby
Church
Motherfuckers
'Bout getting sick of the God damn rap game
Uhh
Everybody wanna fucking 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"

2019, this year I'm going savage mode
Billboard charting rapper, I don't know these folks around me though
Ain't it crazy the impact the demographic is so drastic
That a country kid can take the plastic
Off an album and unwrap it and think, God damnit it's slapping
Put it in the radio and turn it up to the static
'Til it rattles the dashes of the cars that are passing
Hanging out the windows looking like the band Metallica
Yeah I'm Jeepers Creepers creeping 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 LoRé on the mic, North Carolina
And I got more skins then Buffalo Bob did
Except for I don't hate mine, we riding 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 rocking bandanas 'round here, that's a no go
Better wave at me when you driving down my back road
I just lead the pack, sharp teeth like a raptor
Smoking Barnie's in a blunt, pussy ass herbivore
Walking like McGregor, swinging arms through my corridor
Jeans dripping water all over my fucking marble floor
My everyday life is like a battle for existence
My assistant saying someone on the Gram talking 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
Thumping hard in the game, call that shit Jumanji
On the edge of my seat, looking 'round for who want it
Have your eyeballs pop like "Oh my God Ronnie"
I can't even grow a beard so I guess I look normal
Shoutout to Machine Gun Kelly, I'm Remington Ryan homie
Just kidding, just Church, even when it's not a Sunday
Praise God and every other man paving 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 fucking music I make
Country music, shooting ducks, eat this, hold my 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 chewing on homeboy
Sink my teeth in 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 looking at me weird ho
I'll be taking selfies like Shady LP from 9-0's
River Rat working 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 cover the 'partment
'Cause by the time they put it out, 10 others have already started
I'm sick of playing and LARPing, I pull the sword from the stone
I feeling 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, driving home with a smirk
I'm on that Grey Goose, and I don't owe anybody
Shoutout to Allstar, my car looking hella hume and foggy
Setting in the cut, listening to life story
Thinking damn that man was hungry, he started up at the lunch table
I don't need the ketchup, they mustard toast the burnt bread
And if you sleeping 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

Stone baby Stone
Stone baby Stone
Motherfucker