a loser’s pace by William Crooks Lyrics
[Intro]
Let's see if I can remember how this shit goes
Microphone check!
[Verse]
Yeah, tight as fuck like a facelift
I could’ve been great but I smoked myself braindead
I'm not a train so I don't choose if I don’t have to
A glass full is two halves, that's why I have two
I like my bread with the butter, that's a bank roll
Iconic shit, LL Cool J with a Kangol
Heavyweight, only compete with professionals
Got a job, punched a clock, fucked up off of edibles (Shout out [?])
Mach 5 take the top back (Gas?)
Speedracer on the highway, Waze app where the cops at?
Gotta keep the shoes light 'cuz my foots is hеavy
Flowers on your grave, masked up sitting on a Chеvy
Wouldn't give me flowers so I had to grow my own
I am not a rapper I'm a botanist, bitch it's the apocalypse
What that paper do it's just politics
Hollow tips, splatter on the wall like Jackson Pollock did
No smoke, won’t you show them where the coffin is
Scatter all my ashes in the woods when I depart this bitch
What you think that working smarter is
I burn the bank down, baby I’m an arsonist
I wear many hats and still find the mastering
No limits to this shit, shouts out Master P
Head spinning, do a somersault
I'm flipping out, what’s my name, who the fuck you thought?
(Who the fuck you thought this was?)
(Clipaholics)
(No like that shit's actually)
Let's see if I can remember how this shit goes
Microphone check!
[Verse]
Yeah, tight as fuck like a facelift
I could’ve been great but I smoked myself braindead
I'm not a train so I don't choose if I don’t have to
A glass full is two halves, that's why I have two
I like my bread with the butter, that's a bank roll
Iconic shit, LL Cool J with a Kangol
Heavyweight, only compete with professionals
Got a job, punched a clock, fucked up off of edibles (Shout out [?])
Mach 5 take the top back (Gas?)
Speedracer on the highway, Waze app where the cops at?
Gotta keep the shoes light 'cuz my foots is hеavy
Flowers on your grave, masked up sitting on a Chеvy
Wouldn't give me flowers so I had to grow my own
I am not a rapper I'm a botanist, bitch it's the apocalypse
What that paper do it's just politics
Hollow tips, splatter on the wall like Jackson Pollock did
No smoke, won’t you show them where the coffin is
Scatter all my ashes in the woods when I depart this bitch
What you think that working smarter is
I burn the bank down, baby I’m an arsonist
I wear many hats and still find the mastering
No limits to this shit, shouts out Master P
Head spinning, do a somersault
I'm flipping out, what’s my name, who the fuck you thought?
(Who the fuck you thought this was?)
(Clipaholics)
(No like that shit's actually)