STFU 歌词 Pen Pals ※
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Pen Pals


Pen Pals


I make a song that's catchy with the Apache
We some latchkey kids that are known internationally
Cynic The Apache:
Only eat the snatch if it's fantastic b
Fashionably late to a dinner date
Me n Cynic innovate
Switchin lanes on the interstate
Thinkin bout the cash we finna take
We grab the stash then we grin n skate
Cuz we're cold like a winter day
Plus it's blustery, house filled with mice and dirty cutlery
Go ahead, fuck with me
Matter of fact, fuck with us
Break ya neck like Bussa Bus
Rhymin bout disgusting stuff
At your Gma's crib, baking cookies then I bust a nut
You suckas better pucker up, hit em with the upper cut
Cynic with the Philly Shell, Swell got the blunderbuss
Thunderous applause for the humble fucks!
Hit em with a couple bucks we generous gentlemen
Genitals be draggin on the ground, I got that heavy dick
Never let Berettas rip
But tell em bout that mescaline
Excellent, cover you with colorful confetti spit
Yo we rhymin sick
Won't be satisfied until we're signing tits
And divin in vagina lips
Strictly from the hard bars
Can't remember where the fuckin car's parked
Standin still with Nardwuar, march against the Sarduakar
Masters of the art of war, studied the terrain
Mapped it in our brain
Smashed the window pane
Crashed the plane
Cracked the safe
Smacked you in ya face son
We rhyme iller
Fear is the mind killer
I'm feelin great, make papes like Bill Gates
And ill tapes filled with straight billingsgate
They buried me alive, I still escaped
But I lost a fuckin lung
Torque wrench under the tongue
Some sunuvaguns, fuckin with us you'll catch a punch in the nuts
Wake up to blackness cuz you're stuffed in a trunk
Me n Swell'll do a hit, just for a quarter prolly
Yo I caught a body by pushing over the port-a-potty
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We likes to party
Order up the pizza, pepperoni and the sardines
Ya nahmean
My crew don't do much
On the roof, view's plush
Two hundred dollar toothbrush
Never had to move drugs, only had to spit words
Drop a sick verse, hittin bitches til my dick hurts
Mixed elixirs made by a witch doctor
Hit yo bitch with the shocker like shiiiiit GOTCHA!
Tossin in Siracha for the hotness, rock this
Only for the love not the profit, that shit's obnoxious
Equip binoculars and spot em from a distance
Rapswell n Cynic been a couple sinnin misfits
I'm toe tagging these no dough havin Frodo Baggins
Slow as Volkswagons eat you like komodo dragons
My modem laggin but I'm still watching efukt with three sluts
Squeezin on deez nuts, son try to keep up
We speak rough, conversatin on the late night
Takin bites of prey we in the nation of the Great Whites
Break mics on stage, I know you gon remember this
We blow your spot up like it's London on November 5th
We blending piff with the Bally Shag
Holla back
Ain't no time to lollygag
Jack you for your trolley pass
You prolly mad cuz we zipped you up inside the body bag
Rock mics in the Temple of Doom until the columns collapse
We caught you lookin
Off puttin
Sauce cookin
Lost in Brooklyn
Hear the sound of applause
Now bring the hook in

Talkin shit about my squad
You need to SHUT THE FUCK UP
Talkin shit about my crew son?
Who the hell are you??!!
You need to SHUT THE FUCK UP

Incoherent mumbling