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lirik lagu funkoars - blackout

[verse 1 – sesta]
yo, i’m suppose to be humble? your kidding.
they still try to come on some women i just finished coming in ’em.
picturing ’em in their full flat,
more rats enough goths, sl-ts coughed up what i poured down.
it’s your round, never mine and it stays that way,
until the day i fell in line like jay mc clay, ay,
take the bait and i, take ya name instead of a couch,
tom cruise the bit of ya mouth now.
i think it’s evident now the evidence out,
settling downs outta the question.
and how many thousand crew throw towels in to,
show their click, f-ck showmanship, i done showed their sh-t.
show the d-ck ’till the girl gets to come out then,
she get the f-ck out.
till we run out of drinks i skull this one,
thinking out the box with my finger stuck in one.
come f-ck around, f-ck it i come around,
hit ya girl in the back while your son around.
she’s busy, run to the liquor shop and get a bottle,
kiddies love it, he’s a role model.
no morals, beer goggles, thick as a brick,
but i’m never double dipping the d-ck in the b-tch.
f-ck, i turn ’em vegeterian, the drunk pallbearer,
holding wood tryin’ to bury ya.
i give ’em clout, spread the rumor.
getting kicked outta clubs rocking second hand pumas,
who got the illest; sport the name ‘oars.
encores they feel it boy more than they feeling chainsaws.
we came, we saw, we fade ’em all, we did it.
you prayed we’d fall, we didn’t, huh ya kidding?
walking in and we killing the vibe
ya better hide ya dinner knifes because i might,

[chorus ]
blackout, blackout, yeah,
better clean the gutter ’cause i’m gunna gunna,
blackout, try come f-ck around with the oars
that sh-t’s lunacy, ay trials take a sh-t on these g.i. joe mother f-ckers.

[verse 2 – trials]
yeah that’s sesta, raise a f-cking toast for my man.
we on the prowl for a piece of p-ssy with pokey tan.
i’m talking takeover, time’s up,
see they struggling for styles when they hardly rhyme half the time,
real sh-t real hard to find.
‘oars play point-guard like bali 9.
they gotta stop it, another day at the office,
and their name hold weightless that’s why these mother f-ckers drop it under.
i’m the prophet that turns wine to vomit from my wallet with cob webs on it.
if you sick of it, stop it,
listen to common if you want some nice rap,
if you like that you probably got my sh-t and took it right back.
hilltop and ‘oars, that’s the truth,
weapon x and ken h-ll, that’s the booth.
the sh-t’s fake,
major-label budget away from a p-ss tap,
best take the p-ss away before i,
blackout.

[verse 3 – sesta]
you ain’t f-cking with ses,
ask pegz, you’re harmless,
the last pick a target.
gin start the b-tch palming star in a bargain round borrows lugz the answer,
body sn-tcher digging her out,
a hundred motherf-ckers is chillin’ me out, what the f-ck.
raise the terror level with every sip,
so i get a better devil every drink, everything,
better than it’s ever been.
pink shirts and pop collared c-ck suckers,
stop getting props without a top dollar.
rock bottom i’ve got ’em, i’m lex in gotham,
you in the wrong city to stop him.
drop it, back in it raw, packing the floor,
stacking the door, that’s what i rap for.
i tag wh-r-s with an s on they chest,
far from super, duper, f-ckers in the stoop for saying,

[chorus]
blackout, blackout, yeah,
better clean the gutter ’cause i’m gunna gunna,
blackout (scratches)
better clean the gutter ’cause i’m gunna gunna,
blackout

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