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Lyrify.me

WYD by The Neverhood Lyrics

Genre: rap | Year: 2016

[Verse 1]

Yo, let’s go man to man, I’ll rearrange your face like an anagram
And twist your fucking arm into the shape of an ampersand
Catch me lighting up a forest in a camper van
Steady smelling like a fucking tourist out in Amsterdam
See I don’t have the least bit of concern
I’d say your girl is on my dick, but you won’t give her a turn
I’ll send you to a crematory where you’ll wither and burn
Then afterwards I’mma ash my fucking spliff in your urn
Look, I’m on a roll like cans of Chef Boyardee
I’m high like a lawyer’s fee
I swear I get more ass than a voyeur sees
At sororities, hiding in the courtyard trees
You rappers softer than the content of Bazooka
You couldn’t be hard if you were in a staring contest with Medusa
You stink more than a processed tin of tuna
Man, somebody’s gotta introduce ya to the concept of a loofah
But enough about you though
‘Cause honestly nobody gives a fuck about you, bro
I’m the one that’s getting all the kudos
I’m the one your boo knows that give it to her raw like prosciutto
And I ain’t stopping ’til Scorcese
Makes a movie ‘bout me where Shemar Moore plays me
Or Swayze, motherfuckers be like “You’re crazy”
I be like, yeah sure, maybe
But I flow strange like bus seat colors
Eyes white and red like Buzzfeed colors
You’s a bunch of ugly suckers
You should all quit rap and just be butlers
Motherfuckers, I’m on top like a salad plate
Rappers better put on their battle paint
Shit, I find it mad inane that there’s dudes that’ll hate
Just because the sound of my voice makes their girlfriends salivate
That’s a Pavlovian response
I ball harder than Shaq, Kobe, and LeBron
When I rap, I amass copious applause
When y'all rap people clap slowly and just yawn
[Instrumental Break]

[Verse 2]

Who the fuck is at my level of skill?
I’m as difficult to pass as a federal bill
Despite this, somehow rappers aren’t getting it still
I mean how much fucking blood do you expect me to spill?
How many rappers must I recklessly kill?
How many verses must I wreck to be objectively ill
Y'all often fake like an ecstasy pill, I’m a hell of a deal
I’ll skin you dogs like Cruella de Vil
I’m all that and a bag of chips
And I’m half convinced that all you rappers are masochists
‘Cause while I’ve clearly proven that stepping to me is hazardous
For some reason you keep coming back just to get your asses kicked
God, how shitty are y’all
I don’t think you’ve ever written something witty at all
If someone’s even listening to you, then there’s pity involved
Whenever you pose a real threat, give me a call