Bad News Bear

Nah imma shoot up like Rambo, down in the trench with ammo, back and I’m stacked with packs of ammo, only one way this has to be handled, with his skull in my hand and his bands Are you sleeping on me, gotta problem with ya eyelids, now you start the breathing and see who works hard, I did. No matter how hard rap gets I push like a baby, though you’d rather be around at your couch cushion bein lazy, but lately, people have had another excuse with my manners, stickin needles through my lungs to fume my grammar. Just got done gettin on to my music, laughable banters and I spark up use like jackle lanterns. But I don’t understand. Bro, I also wonder man. Just saying before you say that my music is god awful trash, you must look gazing at all the others I left to rot in the ash, most humans know that I can use this pad, go twist the gist and make it slap.. like an abusive dad, I drew grit on rap, I spewed or spit it back. Cuttin ya throat, skin you with bliss in your wrists till you piss this track, kiss my ass, cause my pen can do more tricks then your sick friend with a fist in his ass. A crime to offend in this gen but I’m lit and I’ll sit until you pricks listen at last. Hope your eyelids feelin a tad bit more risen and relaxed, now let’s go inside this place we call a bleeped track.