Howells favorite asshole
Live from the backroads
Can’t say that you dig this shit
Hit on the ride home
So nice on this microphone
Yall dont even fucking know
But they say I’m bipolar
The way Im so cold with these fuckin flows
Flows, I got a pocket full
You trippin like you got a in yall
Yall shouldve saw your face when you heard
Th@ Kid knockin at your fuckin’ door
Bang Bang, who is it?
Skinny kid, looks boolemic
I admit it, I been spittin’
Out these rhymes
Since I was an infant
Im a scholar, you’re a peasant
YoungDumbFuck get it trough your head that
Its the team, oh its the team
In the dug out, gettin faded
Rap out real in, you just fake it
Talk that money like you already made it
Kid just stop it
You don’t got it
Like a pass down to the basement
You cant come here
You aint from here
I promise youve never been
Down D-19 at 4am
In and out of consciousness
Too much smoke
Too much drink
Tangerade bottle in the kitchen sink
We all drunk
We all fucked up
We cant think
We cant speak
But we can live, we can breathe
Were gonna take more damn drinks
Walk across the streets to your moms house
Take whatever she got in that damn fridge
Too young, too blind
Lookin at life trough high eyes
Eyelids down, middle fingers up
May the 517 please stand up
//