Ethnic Work Ethics by The Walkman Lyrics
[Verse: The Walkman]
I work in a factory that makes egg rolls
You want the hookup?
I got the hookup
Could call the cook up now
And I work hard for my 7.75
I continue to grind to try to sell a single for 75
I'm too quick for the fly niggas
I'm too Miyagi
My flow so hot that my view miragy
I spit wasabi
My crew beside me like neighbors
Prolly I leave you vacant
No business faking
You keep mistaking my flow for sloppy
The beat is slow and choppy
I broke it, obviously
And now we're hitting the market
To buy my brand new release
And it's such a model of perfect speech
When you purchase me
You gain a new accent
And some vocabulary
Now riddle me this
Who comes off as passionately?
I'll wait
They're prolly just late, fashionably
How quaint
I show up beside a monk and a saint
And they asked me to pray
And I told them that I have enough faith
Words heavy, but they hold no weight
My medley of slurs
Is prolly most deadly on Earth
With a closet full of bone marrow decaying
And a bow and arrow for range
And a yellow cello for playing Yo Yo Ma
But who am I to question a God?
And who are you to question the odds?
I always work like I'm under the yoke
I respect this check like I do a roach
If I do, at most
Ha, I invite you to roast
Walker, I do like to boast
I work in a factory that makes egg rolls
You want the hookup?
I got the hookup
Could call the cook up now
And I work hard for my 7.75
I continue to grind to try to sell a single for 75
I'm too quick for the fly niggas
I'm too Miyagi
My flow so hot that my view miragy
I spit wasabi
My crew beside me like neighbors
Prolly I leave you vacant
No business faking
You keep mistaking my flow for sloppy
The beat is slow and choppy
I broke it, obviously
And now we're hitting the market
To buy my brand new release
And it's such a model of perfect speech
When you purchase me
You gain a new accent
And some vocabulary
Now riddle me this
Who comes off as passionately?
I'll wait
They're prolly just late, fashionably
How quaint
I show up beside a monk and a saint
And they asked me to pray
And I told them that I have enough faith
Words heavy, but they hold no weight
My medley of slurs
Is prolly most deadly on Earth
With a closet full of bone marrow decaying
And a bow and arrow for range
And a yellow cello for playing Yo Yo Ma
But who am I to question a God?
And who are you to question the odds?
I always work like I'm under the yoke
I respect this check like I do a roach
If I do, at most
Ha, I invite you to roast
Walker, I do like to boast