Sike!
๐ต 2949 characters
โฑ๏ธ 3:58 duration
๐ ID: 13529433
๐ Lyrics
I've been on some burn it down, leave this town, never look back shit
Passing out on your couch, sneaking out the back tip
Ripping credit cards out your mail box, snatch shit
Charge it to the gameplay boy, it's practice
(What are we talking about, practice? We're talking 'bout practice, man.)
They be on some got this, squat this, reroute the power grid
Cops can't stop this, over our dead body, bitch
Heat this, drop this, turn it up louder kid
Put it down in our path, million ways around this shit
We backstage, sterilising tattoos with beer
Your cats stay paralysed from bad news and fear
You're underage, they'n't fucking let you in here
Fake ID, G, you'll buy us all a beer
I'm sick of kids who sit and bitch about they can't get into shit
Your 'woe is me' steez is just getting bit ridiculous;
Fucking ay you're underage, that means they just slap your wrist
If not you're young and fit, yeah bitch I'm running pits
Hah! And give them all trophies
Hah, and some orange slices
Yeah y'all already know me
One of the only that's really grinding
Lazy motherfuckers want to call it luck
But real motherfuckers know there ain't no such
Thing 'cos I mean there ain't no free lunch
You better fix your own plate or serve one to us
Stay waiting for your dad to come save the day, dog
Voted for Obama and expect the change
Is just one big party all giving the same gifts
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
It's only gonna be worse
Right
But this beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
Yeah girl, I own some gold teeth
I'm Southern, I was taught to hold heat
Ain't no gangster, tell that true
Rick Ross just a cop with some bad tattoos
Hey, front up baby and my neck stay real red
Why you make-believe pushing that white shit?
You dressed-up gangsters can play pretend
I stay slinging them white girls 'round my bed
Young Steve McQueen spit that dick game
You tweet real posse for a bitch with a tin chain
I don't need no Maybach just to sharpen my pimp game
Pull girls on my bike, ride my handlebars home man
Ooh, I put my word on that chief
Rihanna gonna holla way I murdered that beat
I cut them like an umbrella, King Kong in the bed sheets
Just try a better fella when you're done with that deadbeat
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
It only gonna be worse
Right
Beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
See? I can write your dumb raps
Pay me and go buy some hubcaps
Fake G's still talking 'bout gun claps
It ain't gonna happen, like A-Rod's comeback
Talent is cheap, money's all made up
Gallons of Beam and the speakers stay bassed up
Fuck it, I got nothing left to say, son
Y'all Get Cryphy, thank you Based God
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
But it only gonna be worse
Right
But this beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
But it's only gonna be worse
Right
And this beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
Passing out on your couch, sneaking out the back tip
Ripping credit cards out your mail box, snatch shit
Charge it to the gameplay boy, it's practice
(What are we talking about, practice? We're talking 'bout practice, man.)
They be on some got this, squat this, reroute the power grid
Cops can't stop this, over our dead body, bitch
Heat this, drop this, turn it up louder kid
Put it down in our path, million ways around this shit
We backstage, sterilising tattoos with beer
Your cats stay paralysed from bad news and fear
You're underage, they'n't fucking let you in here
Fake ID, G, you'll buy us all a beer
I'm sick of kids who sit and bitch about they can't get into shit
Your 'woe is me' steez is just getting bit ridiculous;
Fucking ay you're underage, that means they just slap your wrist
If not you're young and fit, yeah bitch I'm running pits
Hah! And give them all trophies
Hah, and some orange slices
Yeah y'all already know me
One of the only that's really grinding
Lazy motherfuckers want to call it luck
But real motherfuckers know there ain't no such
Thing 'cos I mean there ain't no free lunch
You better fix your own plate or serve one to us
Stay waiting for your dad to come save the day, dog
Voted for Obama and expect the change
Is just one big party all giving the same gifts
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
It's only gonna be worse
Right
But this beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
Yeah girl, I own some gold teeth
I'm Southern, I was taught to hold heat
Ain't no gangster, tell that true
Rick Ross just a cop with some bad tattoos
Hey, front up baby and my neck stay real red
Why you make-believe pushing that white shit?
You dressed-up gangsters can play pretend
I stay slinging them white girls 'round my bed
Young Steve McQueen spit that dick game
You tweet real posse for a bitch with a tin chain
I don't need no Maybach just to sharpen my pimp game
Pull girls on my bike, ride my handlebars home man
Ooh, I put my word on that chief
Rihanna gonna holla way I murdered that beat
I cut them like an umbrella, King Kong in the bed sheets
Just try a better fella when you're done with that deadbeat
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
It only gonna be worse
Right
Beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
See? I can write your dumb raps
Pay me and go buy some hubcaps
Fake G's still talking 'bout gun claps
It ain't gonna happen, like A-Rod's comeback
Talent is cheap, money's all made up
Gallons of Beam and the speakers stay bassed up
Fuck it, I got nothing left to say, son
Y'all Get Cryphy, thank you Based God
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
But it only gonna be worse
Right
But this beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
Sike
Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
Yikes
But it's only gonna be worse
Right
And this beat is kinda beserk
Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
โฑ๏ธ Synced Lyrics
[00:19.65] I've been on some burn it down, leave this town, never look back shit
[00:22.75] Passing out on your couch, sneaking out the back tip
[00:25.13] Ripping credit cards out your mail box, snatch shit
[00:27.78] Charge it to the gameplay boy, it's practice
[00:30.24] (What are we talking about, practice? We're talking 'bout practice, man.)
[00:36.79] They be on some got this, squat this, reroute the power grid
[00:40.12] Cops can't stop this, over our dead body, bitch
[00:42.74] Heat this, drop this, turn it up louder kid
[00:45.08] Put it down in our path, million ways around this shit
[00:47.75] We backstage, sterilising tattoos with beer
[00:50.13] Your cats stay paralysed from bad news and fear
[00:52.63] You're underage, they'n't fucking let you in here
[00:55.28] Fake ID, G, you'll buy us all a beer
[00:57.45] I'm sick of kids who sit and bitch about they can't get into shit
[01:00.05] Your 'woe is me' steez is just getting bit ridiculous;
[01:02.57] Fucking ay you're underage, that means they just slap your wrist
[01:05.23] If not you're young and fit, yeah bitch I'm running pits
[01:07.81] Hah! And give them all trophies
[01:10.82] Hah, and some orange slices
[01:12.84] Yeah y'all already know me
[01:15.26] One of the only that's really grinding
[01:17.62] Lazy motherfuckers want to call it luck
[01:20.12] But real motherfuckers know there ain't no such
[01:22.53] Thing 'cos I mean there ain't no free lunch
[01:25.41] You better fix your own plate or serve one to us
[01:27.37] Stay waiting for your dad to come save the day, dog
[01:32.62] Voted for Obama and expect the change
[01:34.93] Is just one big party all giving the same gifts
[01:37.63] Sike
[01:38.58] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[01:40.05] Yikes
[01:40.99] It's only gonna be worse
[01:42.64] Right
[01:43.59] But this beat is kinda beserk
[01:45.17] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[01:49.30]
[02:07.88] Yeah girl, I own some gold teeth
[02:10.38] I'm Southern, I was taught to hold heat
[02:12.60] Ain't no gangster, tell that true
[02:14.93] Rick Ross just a cop with some bad tattoos
[02:17.97] Hey, front up baby and my neck stay real red
[02:20.36] Why you make-believe pushing that white shit?
[02:22.67] You dressed-up gangsters can play pretend
[02:24.81] I stay slinging them white girls 'round my bed
[02:27.84] Young Steve McQueen spit that dick game
[02:30.12] You tweet real posse for a bitch with a tin chain
[02:32.57] I don't need no Maybach just to sharpen my pimp game
[02:34.91] Pull girls on my bike, ride my handlebars home man
[02:37.65] Ooh, I put my word on that chief
[02:39.98] Rihanna gonna holla way I murdered that beat
[02:42.44] I cut them like an umbrella, King Kong in the bed sheets
[02:45.09] Just try a better fella when you're done with that deadbeat
[02:47.55] Sike
[02:48.66] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[02:50.11] Yikes
[02:51.08] It only gonna be worse
[02:52.57] Right
[02:53.99] Beat is kinda beserk
[02:55.01] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[02:57.70] See? I can write your dumb raps
[03:00.22] Pay me and go buy some hubcaps
[03:02.79] Fake G's still talking 'bout gun claps
[03:05.06] It ain't gonna happen, like A-Rod's comeback
[03:07.82] Talent is cheap, money's all made up
[03:10.23] Gallons of Beam and the speakers stay bassed up
[03:12.75] Fuck it, I got nothing left to say, son
[03:15.10] Y'all Get Cryphy, thank you Based God
[03:17.61] Sike
[03:18.54] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[03:20.10] Yikes
[03:20.84] But it only gonna be worse
[03:22.62] Right
[03:23.57] But this beat is kinda beserk
[03:25.01] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[03:27.63] Sike
[03:28.62] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[03:29.13] Yikes
[03:31.01] But it's only gonna be worse
[03:32.54] Right
[03:33.48] And this beat is kinda beserk
[03:35.00] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[03:37.37]
[00:22.75] Passing out on your couch, sneaking out the back tip
[00:25.13] Ripping credit cards out your mail box, snatch shit
[00:27.78] Charge it to the gameplay boy, it's practice
[00:30.24] (What are we talking about, practice? We're talking 'bout practice, man.)
[00:36.79] They be on some got this, squat this, reroute the power grid
[00:40.12] Cops can't stop this, over our dead body, bitch
[00:42.74] Heat this, drop this, turn it up louder kid
[00:45.08] Put it down in our path, million ways around this shit
[00:47.75] We backstage, sterilising tattoos with beer
[00:50.13] Your cats stay paralysed from bad news and fear
[00:52.63] You're underage, they'n't fucking let you in here
[00:55.28] Fake ID, G, you'll buy us all a beer
[00:57.45] I'm sick of kids who sit and bitch about they can't get into shit
[01:00.05] Your 'woe is me' steez is just getting bit ridiculous;
[01:02.57] Fucking ay you're underage, that means they just slap your wrist
[01:05.23] If not you're young and fit, yeah bitch I'm running pits
[01:07.81] Hah! And give them all trophies
[01:10.82] Hah, and some orange slices
[01:12.84] Yeah y'all already know me
[01:15.26] One of the only that's really grinding
[01:17.62] Lazy motherfuckers want to call it luck
[01:20.12] But real motherfuckers know there ain't no such
[01:22.53] Thing 'cos I mean there ain't no free lunch
[01:25.41] You better fix your own plate or serve one to us
[01:27.37] Stay waiting for your dad to come save the day, dog
[01:32.62] Voted for Obama and expect the change
[01:34.93] Is just one big party all giving the same gifts
[01:37.63] Sike
[01:38.58] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[01:40.05] Yikes
[01:40.99] It's only gonna be worse
[01:42.64] Right
[01:43.59] But this beat is kinda beserk
[01:45.17] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[01:49.30]
[02:07.88] Yeah girl, I own some gold teeth
[02:10.38] I'm Southern, I was taught to hold heat
[02:12.60] Ain't no gangster, tell that true
[02:14.93] Rick Ross just a cop with some bad tattoos
[02:17.97] Hey, front up baby and my neck stay real red
[02:20.36] Why you make-believe pushing that white shit?
[02:22.67] You dressed-up gangsters can play pretend
[02:24.81] I stay slinging them white girls 'round my bed
[02:27.84] Young Steve McQueen spit that dick game
[02:30.12] You tweet real posse for a bitch with a tin chain
[02:32.57] I don't need no Maybach just to sharpen my pimp game
[02:34.91] Pull girls on my bike, ride my handlebars home man
[02:37.65] Ooh, I put my word on that chief
[02:39.98] Rihanna gonna holla way I murdered that beat
[02:42.44] I cut them like an umbrella, King Kong in the bed sheets
[02:45.09] Just try a better fella when you're done with that deadbeat
[02:47.55] Sike
[02:48.66] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[02:50.11] Yikes
[02:51.08] It only gonna be worse
[02:52.57] Right
[02:53.99] Beat is kinda beserk
[02:55.01] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[02:57.70] See? I can write your dumb raps
[03:00.22] Pay me and go buy some hubcaps
[03:02.79] Fake G's still talking 'bout gun claps
[03:05.06] It ain't gonna happen, like A-Rod's comeback
[03:07.82] Talent is cheap, money's all made up
[03:10.23] Gallons of Beam and the speakers stay bassed up
[03:12.75] Fuck it, I got nothing left to say, son
[03:15.10] Y'all Get Cryphy, thank you Based God
[03:17.61] Sike
[03:18.54] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[03:20.10] Yikes
[03:20.84] But it only gonna be worse
[03:22.62] Right
[03:23.57] But this beat is kinda beserk
[03:25.01] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[03:27.63] Sike
[03:28.62] Like a P.O.S. t-shirt
[03:29.13] Yikes
[03:31.01] But it's only gonna be worse
[03:32.54] Right
[03:33.48] And this beat is kinda beserk
[03:35.00] Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt
[03:37.37]