[Lyric] Rotten Apples Part. 2 (Lee Monro x Ello. C)

[Intro: [?]]
Bitch, what?
Apples [?] the bad bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
Apples [?] the bad bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
The bad bitch, what? The bad bitch, what? (Stay rotten)

[Verse 1: Lee Monro]
Twenty bucks says it's nuff said, you fuckheads
Your double d cups on the nightstand where my mind's kept
Right-wing, but I'm high, lyin', I'm fuckin' sober as
Dobermann only known for exposin' [?] from the overpass (Pass)
Pass whatever, must last forever
Kanye, I'm a cunt, 'cause I'm blunt, no cheddar
Tough, no leather, better off with the fisticuffs
Get a gist of a bitch and I'm liftin off on you sittin' ducks (What?)
So call the roll while I make some calls in a roll
So many fuckin' features, this live is an awful show
'Cause half what you wanna hear isn't here, but I'm thinkin', though
It's prob'ly, 'cause we usin' them names on the fliers, bro—fuck
But that's us, looser than fuckin' gooses
Geese's, Jesus, we leavin' 'em dead, hang with the nooses
Your banger reckin' the loop, and the truth, man, and the proof is
That even Proof fucked with it, all the hate then—excuses (What?)
You can't deny this clone of God personified in flesh
The mane around my face done made your mans look like a lioness
Alpha male scalin' mountains, are you astounded by how I progress?
And made a room full of strangers raise their hands like playin' Simon Says (Simon says)
Sleepwalker put in work while them werewolves are howlin'
Try to fuck with us and prepared for these various outcomes (Bitch)
Strugglin', your current life, I'll forever rest your head
My mind state stay as sharp as a grave guardian's sense of death
Tell your leaders best believe this how we get it in
Coldblooded killin' 'em, still they feelin' me like I'm [?]
Livin' in a prism where Heaven and Hell collide, we classy as fuck
Pass the dutch with our pinkies up, use phoenix feathers to pen the fire
We animals, drunk off fermented bottles of rotten apple juice
So attractive, I make your chick shit her pantaloons
Use my dick to climb up and experience life at this altitude
So I can spartan kick you from it when I punch holes in your parachute
[Verse 2: [?]]
Yeah
Ayo, you comin' out swingin', [?] can't test the stance
Son, I'm way above your chance [?] dance
This is a beat necromance [?] viper
[?] gronkitis, you impressed? Not the lightest
You got the motherfuckin' market on your mind
And the bar was not raised by your millimetre line
Ayo, Lee and Ello, we change it temporello
You hot and cold with your damn tall poppy syndrome
I'm back again [?] for me the time is runnin' out
Real rap, yeah, [?] drought, I'd rather put that gun to mouth
Than to ride with these lames, formaldehyde after the flames
[?] like acclaim, die hard like Maclaine
And you think you got the idea of what's goin' on
[?] what articles to read [?] in the song
[?] do you belong, underground or commercial
Pigeonhole in your circle, you ain't tight, and we'll hurt you

[Verse 3: [?]]
You messin' with the
Baddest bad since Michael Jackson's dad
Slapped him out his Black skin
And if you can't handle that then keep your sandals strapped
Dance on tabs of acid, don't confuse for fashion
See me in a fur coat, I'm flashin' families flaccid
Showin' off the birth' suit, showin' off, it'll hurt you
Soft emotional shell, fragile PC fascist
Act like faggotry's a virtue, squeal shrill if you want to
But you won't change shit, my aim's to pick apart the planet
Till polarities flip, and not a little bit embarrassed
'Bout it either, I ether all these amateurs
Bitches paramount to the preacher Molotov
Lord Steez is on the feature, reason why you rewind
Disbar the speaker, treat ya to a bottle of
Bleach when I meet ya, bruh, I'll eat your fuckin' ego
You're like the buzzin' of flies to me, [?]
[Verse 4: 360]
Instead of doin' stupid crime and doin' time
I treat the rap game like the crack game, and I'm doin' fine (All right, ayy)
It's Forthwrite, bitch, I'm what your crew admire (Yeah)
What you inspire is for me to jump into a fire (Ah)
[?] suicide, crucify [?] euthanise ya
These rappers need to fall back (Like): scuba diver (Yeah)
I need to brutalise any dude who writes
See, I'm part of the humankind but never seen a human nicer (I'm so nice)
Don't fuck with me, I can screw your life up (I can)
Ain't nothin' to what I'll do to mine, but
I'm a human spider (And?) This ain't a punchline
I just wanna rhyme supervisor with Uber driver (Woo)
My mic now's at a hundred degrees
Drake ain't runnin' through the six, 'cause no one runnin' through me
You bet I'm on your mind, you better never cross the line
See, the view on top's amazin', but it's better from behind (Fuck [?])

[Verse 5: Ello. C]
You see, there's nothin' on this record I can say to make me stand out
Except the fact this oriental Aussie doesn't win crowds
I'm introvert and mentally unstable from the ordinary
Place me in a room of rappers, label that a mortuary
Death to all, watch these awkward frowns, 'cause I'm lovin' that
Don't need a group of yes men, the fun below my ball sack's
Unorthodox, I'm 'bout to pop the lock and break Pandora's box
A stripper named Pandora watchin' Dora while I eat her box
Ha (What?) Yeah, I'm totally off-topic
Say what I fuckin' want, there's no off button to stop it
Finish the tape or rehab, those were my only options
So fuck it, gimme a slot, so the token Asian is spotted
Hi-ya, that's what I'm feelin' on the regular
Ciggie butt brain, I snatch your lighter like I stole your flame (Stole your flame)
(Oh shit) Ah shit, what the fuck's his name
That dropkick spittin' from a skeleton frame, it's fuckin' Ello
[Verse 6: [?]]
I don't write raps for fans, I write raps for sluts
I rap thinkin' with [?] throw in their guts
I rap for free fifty bucks, straight in the nose
While you other rappers still achin' for bars, but, bruh, it's cool
I'd happily rap for the pink dollar
The highest standard of hygiene, drugs and they love Madonna
I do, too, 'cause she's the world champion slut
And if you heard what I heard, it's like, man, she can fuck
Look, Big Daddy Kane did, Dennis gave her the rod, man
Guy Richie, hmm, ah, I don't know what, man
Maybe laid next to her on the bed havin' a bat
While she [?] in her snatch, she's rock and roll, huh?
Little bit older, what is she, mid-seventies?
Would I still do her? Definitely, all the way to the cemet'ry
Heavenly [?] Hades, soundtrack of the eighties
All I'm tryna say is she's better than all you ladies; I love you, Madonna

[Chorus: [?]]
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
The bad bitch, what? The bad bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
The bad bitch, what? The bad bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
We the rotten fuckin' apples [?] bitch, what?
The bad bitch, what? Said, the bad bitch, what, what?

[Outro: [?]]
What, cunt?
[?] yep