[Lyric] La Parka (Whose)

[Verse: Whose]
I'm more than my father
Producer of the camp, I'm the chairman like La Parka
Ask certain people and they’ll say my name is Parper
Eating out there ring there legs start to Hurricanrana
Stubborn, they are when I'm taking them out
Never wants to admit a wrong came out their mouth
But they never complain when I travel down south
And we gotta put more than plastic wrap on the couch
Got a weathered leather black satchel, oh yeah
Just cause you’re a brat doesn’t mean you’re an asshole
You drinking Arrowhead I know that your coochie stink
I still fall for enby’s that swear that they're into kinks
As little treat, Whose can have a nibble of the pink
Dive in it like seal team six, size the Michelin
Ain't never seen a half-Jew as fresh like me
At the bar taking more shots than Captain Briggsy

[Verse: Marcus Lee]
Yeah I told you that Juventud Guerrera
When I'm flipping out on tracks
I'm coolest in the era
And I'm chillin here with Jack, Smith, and Whose
You better stand up
Better yet, sit down, be humble
How'd you manage getting this far on ya own?
Listen please, get a sound analysis
Because man ya shit weak
Yo who man's is this? Shit...
I'm just saying better can it bitch, I'm a god
I will aim this canon at ya planet bitch
Ugh, now where was I
Airing out your cameras, better let 'em fly
I came in like a wreaking ball, I wreck you guys
Breakin' down the walls, Kool-Aid man with juice
Drown you niggas in the sauce, better recognize
Any man who dares me I say let 'em him die
I came with the blade like a samurai
Straight out Dexter's lab like I'm Sam R I
Regal with the five knuckle shuffle
You in trouble if I'm hunting you, I vandalize
[Verse: Smith the Poet]
I’m a T800 spitting love crimes
Dead mic with a mic, I'm a goldmine
Outta sight outta mind, we don’t rewind
Got that gusto ho, this the whole nine
Still I’m useless, ruthless, shady and stupid
Hyper-Fluid, rude with da groove bitch
It’s quite therapeutic, the putrid we puking
Fluent and foolish, toothless Confucius
Fickle with da riddles
I'm too civil and it’s sad
That these bitches got no rhythm
Ain't no vision in the raps
Yes I'm cynical to ridicule
With syllables so pivotal
Its criminal, but critical
There ain't no coming back
I need a medic and a mic stand, dork
Spitting prophetics
A fetish, some high horse
Pathetic, my mind warp
The premise and lye course
In my optics of quartz
I distort, here forth
'Cause I'm one with the force
[Verse: The Thought]
Fat Boy
Put you on your ass
Making certain that you lack joy
Do it all for cash
Bursting with a laugh
Troy brought horses in the castle
Know that you won’t get the pass, Roy
Course he getting cancelled
Playing quarters on the mantle
The table topped with corpses
Looking gorgeous in the candle light
The label stopped adoring
And according to the artists
That been cornered by the boring
Only porridge while you touring
Just to lose it on recording
And the youth ain’t been awarding
Any lyrical miracles
Though the syllables important
It’s informed by the principles
So the Mystikals and Bustas
More like orange venereals
Your chords are like Cheerios
Heard you tore your Capezios
You storing your cereal
Where the ants’ll go looking
Dipped in graphite material
Blackened hands from the booking
Call the passion ethereal
But you trash as my cooking
Bat your lashes and here we go
Off the rafters you took it