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lirik lagu airospace - earl sweatshirt

[sample]
i’m your bomb, baby, ready to explode
i need you to get me off
be your slave, do anything i’m told
i’m a

[intro]
yo, i swear to god i am like the most depressing rapper ever
like, it’s always b~tches, du~ wait

[verse]
my vernacular is quite spectacular
in fact, i’m d~mn dampened in dust
the last valor is us, sam outers the cuff
the bees winks and busts, my three sh~ts a f~ck
i couldn’t stand for what’s up
so i took tragic and less bom da bom dang da diggy
sh~t, are you with me?
andy milonakis, my eight inches [?]
ready to explode on [?] after i resurrect him
intravenously to say i was parasitic, my thoughts which
black, rebecca wants to get down on friday
thirteen ghosts, thirteen hosts
chrome~sh~lled radios breaking kenshin blade
[?]
i swayed on the stacies when i step on stage
when i knock carlos k [?]
get it, sn~tch the braids, i’m so broke, i’m paid
this ain’t the trick of the trade
it’s the tools from liverpool while i’m curvin’ a fade
b~lls in her mouth when i drop the hook, line, and sinker
motherf~ckers must’ve mistook [?]
tongue in cheek, your white girl’s a freak
my, um, girl’s a beat
that calls me a wh0re and nothing more [?] defeat
i’m a doggy treat, when you jump, i speak
this full r~t~rd has you bumping futuristic bliss
so don’t you dare talk back to god before i bust your sh~t
doing trashcan handstands and suckin’ d~ck
i mean gettin’ d~ck sucked, f~ck, you’re messin’ me up
and i’m borderline throwin’ my breakfast all the way up
ricki~ricki~ricki, brake speed
who’s in need, motherf~ckers can’t see
what? yo, god d~mn it!
po po, low low, four four, pow pow
[?]
all the redneck beaters, f150 and speakers
blastin’ out of your tweeters off of that new year meter
chasin’ fat asses with the pinpointed iris linin’
this n~ggas diamond been shinin’
till that b~tch f~cked another n~gga neck, twistin’ and ridin’
finding a good black chick is like gold diggin’ and minin’
box cutting, dirty wives and old perverts while smiliin’
i’m goin’ crazy off the swazy and now patrick is dying
chick asked me how i’m f~ckin’ up and said, she told me i’m lyin’
well you can suck my d~ck bick and jerk it off from behind
when you’re grabbin’ my sack
and i’m ticklin’ the inner side of your hymen
searchin’ for the thoughts in my mind is like [?]
send the drones grindin’ low, figure flyin’
i’m just sayin’ bullsh~t like [?] over sirens
and logic can l!ck my nip off with that def jam signin’
don’t think i forgot how you faked in a booth when n~ggas was rhymin’
i don’t have the bread but at least i’m not stealin’ a n~gga stylin’
the boy was going crazy, i’m the [?]
and so i get on the mic and then middle eastern children are dying
i’m the pure bred american with one i in inbred
forget the bullsh~ts ever had said
i’m jumpin’ off this cliff with lead in my head
and i’m racing all these f~ckin [?] on the feds
and i ain’t down for doin’ sh~t until you hop on my bed
i’m only fl!ckin’ f~ckin’ wrists when i’m [?]
so you can tie that tripwire to the foot of my bed
so when you hop out, i can instantly pr~nounce your mans dead
b~tch

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