lirik lagu kig v2 - tweaker
{the crmsyn chin!}
[intro]
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[infini~verse]
mashallah!
ya boy, he percolate
he on ‘em, on ‘em percs, up late
i leave the purr~purr wasted
defenestrate or hurdle frame
it’s murda murda murda gang
i’m basted
let’s face it
i’ll prolly keep knockin ‘em back
like i’m gagging on barf as i pass on carpet
i got’em noddin, where the narcan at?
thinks he departin, let him pass
he’ll show us where he parkin’ at
you red sea, boy, now part in half
sincere and flawed, i’ll market that
and draw a target demograph
and teach ‘em how to dumb down, laugh
at generic brands, carrot fanning their face
like her hands are on my waist
lil bunny, take a taste
when i’m done, town away
here in this game to change huggies
car got ballast for the druggies
look just like you!
in my grubby hands like putty
dance, dance, sonny
til you bust those shoes, yeah!
your mistress, think i should meet her
she chew wood, i do the beaver
toss that salad, take it cesar
off the ‘caine like an old geezer
give it raw, we got a squealer
on these titties, i might sleep here
got some weasel, in the speaker
oops, can’t hear sh~t, cl!ck receiver
pop your eye, go cop concealer
you a snitch? well i’m a seeker
hoffa drum, so let that deter
parasites who barely deserve
warm body, except for fever
when i wink
i, i
i fit my hoes with tha mink and zebra
feelin’ like a whole ass kink, just teasers
before the main, know i decieve her
pacing for days, ya boy a tweaker
got me in jinx, the drink and the divas
one second away, it all seems meaningless
just, just
just off a pill, i’m not mentally ill
don’t be a buzzk!ll, i’ll get softer than silk
i prolly have problems, but can’t foot the bill
so feed me the bills, chuck e. cheese ticket feeder
clipping my b~lls, fiftieth kid, couldn’t feed her
filled with the bull, cuz the real, it is meager
hit below the belt, i’m in belk, lookin’ beiber
potus material, cuz you know i’m a tweeter
l!cking timbs, you so silly
‘til achilles, he tore
i’m an issue when bored, finna pickle c~4
in some tula, mashallah, i got some teaaaa we can drudge up!
finna f~ck up the vibe
like a van of k~9
ain’t a fan of this function, may i deport
myself to an island with wine, hold the cork
stuff dai’ tay’ ‘til whine, comb face with fork
that i found on a dingy
with
an emaciated man who reports:
[outro]
“aaight, um, sir
we found you on 4 doses of ketamine inside the western boulevard chuck e. cheese yesterday
you’ve been in and out of psychosis for the last few days, and, well
while the restaurant said they won’t press charges
the u.n. has decided you’re not to go within 20 miles of a ball pit for the rest of your life…”
…then, like, what’s the point of living, maaan?~~
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