Sasquatch

After filling my reputation of whore beaters

Soared to Taco Bell and I ordered some gorditas (Mmm, that's good!)

Wanted four more, ordered 'em, didn't eat 'em

Then head to Thebe's house for some gymnastics

Fantastic, I backflip on this beat B

Cause we running shit like the Dingleberry's on four cheetahs

Flow colder than Papa Joe's or Domino's (Fuck it, whatever, um)

Trashwang scratched inside the knucks

Got some One Direction tickets, I should hit that up

Drive by with puppy signs plastered on the truck

Then see how many of they fans could fit inside the trunk

Move over the microwave and the cannabis

Try to take the van and the whole band to Canada

Fuck the block news and the venues, they can't handle us

They can't stand us including fruits that Frank's channeling

The Ku Klux Klan see me and my managers

But thank me when they ask where the Five Panels is

Man, I suck now, I ain't still dope

But Chris and Rihanna's fuckin' again so there's still hope

Oh fuck, I went there, balling bitch, I'm Ben's hair

Y'all barely breaking like Taco's self-esteem in a thin chair

Old Navy bitches love this gap, yeah this grin's rare

Watch a nigga smile like five-year-old child

I'm kicking it with Nak and the nigga from Green Mile

It's Red Bull in this cup so a nigga may seem wild but

That's just all the sherm I was burning a little while ago

Don't let me get hold of that rifle

Shout my nigga Sage Elsseser and Sean Pablo

Surrounded by them niggas that skate with a sick style

And some freckled bitches with giant peaches that's vile

They never did catch that rhino

Squadron full of some lost souls

Sergeant of all, it's autumn and Nak just nollied a pothole

Non-cooperative with his momma's wishes for college

And coppers labeled a problem since paying for Damianos

So shimmy through the swamp, nigga, follow me through the fox holes

Moral Orenthal with a pretty bitch in a Bronco

Hopped right off the seven and stumbled into some Vatos

Threw a punch, got jumped, dusted off and then walked home

Shit, it's like 6 p.m. and his temple throbbing

Hand in the cabinet by seven, sniff the prescription oxies

Logo in the boxes, all my niggas hostile

Cautious of your crosses, scoffing at your doctrines

Bitches augmented stupid as the group is

Only slightly, write precise to get a pussy nigga two chins

Man these stitches shut the loose lips, stumbled in a Ruth's Chris

Slid into a booth and hid the luggage from his shroom trips

See, Lionel ball with Leonardo on the weekend now

And Maui on a scenic route, we on the second season now

Small fry got 'em seasons salty, weeded, coughing

Ease up off me, end is breathing easy as bulimics barfing

From a different breed of doggy, from a different seed and cloth

And teeing off, believe it's Golf Wang, nigga