Hate

Shit, it ain't nothin' new It's the A, yo, one, two Better make us some room Give us space to come through 'Cause we hate what you do And your lame fucking crew And I will never quit 'Til you pricks hate my guts too Honey, I'm home The boys are like, here he goes again I'm just letting steam off everything I've been holding in Yup, I'm going in Give a fuck who a song offends Man, I don't get it Why can't I seem to hold onto friends? Guess I'm just too intense A grumpy cunt, if nothing else Yelling at Mikie and Kellyn Telling 'em to go fuck themselves And hell, that's my own damn crew But I'm just popping shit to them Waiting to toe tag you Whoops, I'm back at it God damn it, I've fucking had it Too much wack shit To even keep track of what I've been mad at Fuck these Sac rappers We've given these cats chances Pick a bridge, any bridge And hand me the damn matches Chalk 'em out, get the yellow tape They can even hella hate I'm from Northern Cali Our slang is how we all relate Versatile verses, I get 'em twisted like cursive You gon' need some churches and hearses After the service I paint pictures, but I'm off the wall Put that shit together Work ethic from the Alumni Who does it better? Read a book, I'm on a different page Jumping on a different stage Now I got a couple bucks Look at how life changed I'm in the pocket, only lyricists notice it Maybe because we come from three day notices I just spit retarded, while y'all dress disabled I'll do you like a Dudley boy Put your ass through a table In reality, I'm living good Even if I'm nameless I could kick the dog shit out of someone like Sheamus Bush I'll smack your family tree I'm just tryin'a rake in this money And leave the leaves If you know what I mean Green Look, I knows the truth Your whole flow's a fluke Your chain snatched, like an episode of Roots You not getting paper So what you lyin' for? The only O's you served was in a tire store The only time you grip nines When you screamin' fore You a bitch, bottom line That's an underscore I'm on my shit, Frank Gore when I run in hoes I'm on fire Y'all niggas better tuck and roll Damn, am I swingin' on my own dick? Damn right, I earned stripes just like Ole Miss So listen up What you spittin' ain't sick enough You's a little kid, wet behind the ears Sippy cups But I'm dope Might as well go and rock meth Put it on that stove In the kitchen like Top Chef I'm wet, definition of that fly shit Meaning that I switch gears And I don't even drive stick Wait, did you comprehend that? My wardrobe gotta be at least ten stacks Sneakerhead, been that Clean cut, chin strap Every kick, I break in Like when Silva's shin snapped I'm a legend, in fact John Lennon of rap Being broke ain't funny No joke, Sinbad Yeah, now that's a lot to deal with But I know you get the picture Like somebody filmed it I'm about to kill it 'Cause y'all been hatin' us But do like a library Keep your mouth on hush Motherfucker