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Skillshot
A
good percentage of these fucking... these rappers You know they call themselves rappers or whatever... Man, how does that make... Say you're a
rapper, right You know what I'm saying Say you're a
rapper, a
mumble rapper or whatever You've been in the
game for a
good 10 years, whatever whatever And then some dude comes in that is naturally a
country artist and bosses you up Put your seatbelt on, you're gonna need it in a
minute I
ain't scared to die, I
laugh at rappers tryna ride with me I'ma make you fall off 'cause I
pop mad wheelies You just suck while I'm sucking on mad titties on bad bitches Yeah, straight from the
countryside Bum a
cig' then I
ask can I
bum a
fucking ride Now it's fuck a
record label, Lamborghini looking fresh Army green paint, mud caked on the
headrest I'm the
rooster, no need for career boosters I
be blowing up, the
rest are professional skin-fluters Got a
degree in winning so I'm unable to be a
loser Hip-hop is my drug, bitch, and I'm an err'day user Woo, Ric Flair with them nose hairs And enough coke to kill a
hibernating grizzly bear Sleeping on me, so it's only fair I
jump up in your nightmare Like Freddy Krueger, ain't worked in ten years I'm in their head now, all they see is a
guy in a
snow plow That's me driving, who the
fuck's gold now? I
made the
south have a
north pole, pal I
can get so dark the
sun will be scared to pop... pop out Discredited for the
past three years I
know a
lot of motherfuckers that owe me beers And you're gonna give it to me, I
ain't even saying cheers I
ain't even saying thanks, I
ain't even taking one drink I'll dump it on the
ground and tell the
bartender you bought it And scissor kick you in your non-singing esophagus And then invite you to a
hick-hop party around 6
At the
corner of Second Avenue and suck a
dick If you still sleeping on me won't you grab a
tit Just make sure it ain't a
chick tryna boost her income, kid Don't fucking fire at me unless you wanna get cremated For making me masturbate while you hang with your ex, baby Les be honest, I'm still a
top doggy dogging And I'm hungry and I'm hardly tired of harsh walking You ain't got a
song that's independently chart-topping You couldn't be a
shocking career if it had a
fucking dog collar Hope you like your number 1
hit song I
had to buy a
leash and pretty much fucking walk you to it You little bi I
mean female Labradoodle My raps are Mona Lisa, yours are like half a
doodle I'm rapping for the
purse, like I
bagged a
poodle Country rap, I'ma be the
last to do it I
killed five careers with only words and math We can't chop it up but can you dodge this axe? I'ma make you a
past rap artifact My cards are secretly razor blades when they look like blackjacks Ain't no dodging me, not even with a
Scat Pack That GT got an engine to wreck anybody on the
last lap Whoops, it was an accidental love tap I
was watching this vid' of a
guy and he was real mad You could tell he loved her but she played him, it was real sad Now my attitude is to wrap heads in Glad bags "I can not believe you" ("What the
fuck?") Yeah, what the
fuck? Now I'm colder than the
songs I
wrote And I'm coming for you if you got a
throat Who look down on me like I'm shit or somethin'? Fuck the
CMA's, fuck the
CMT's, fuck the
VH1 and both MTV's "You're a
broken record", at least I'm gold When these rappers diss me it becomes their biggest songs It's a
shotgun shame, it's been half a
decade They got two dweebs still having me make their short change And I
ain't even seen a
short change You still got ass bars and a
dork name You're a
Woody doll that ate too much cake Oh wait, a
cartoon, a
hundred percent fake Looking Pixar, getting picked apart Like a
demolition derby and only one little Smart Car I
like square body Chevy's Nah, you like ballsacks and daddies And that's why you and Chris tickle each other on a
futon In your faggot Snapchat stream I
give an evil grin, you think that you're real men Real men don't bitch like a
diva on Instagram Any hard worker really can come see this shit Your last video was a
knockoff of Scarface, bitch (Haha) Can you even start a
chainsaw? 'Cause Lord knows you ain't got any bar oil Hick-hop party? More like flipped over barstool With you and Hosier sitting on it like "Dude, this is cool" Beavis you can't butt heads with me Shane's last video was only sitting on three And on my way home I'll quadruple your stats 'Cause your square body Chevy be sitting on flats With your boy in the
back screaming "I ain't got gas" You're so non-sharp you couldn't cut dead grass And you suck more than the
best blowjob, facts Every real skin knows you're blowing smoke out your ass Y'all should be like gay redneck porn stars Travel together dressed like queer ass cowboys Throw glitter at each other, make small cat noises 'Cause both y'all some pussies with some fuzzy rat toys Fucking weirdos
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