Yeah I know, and
Bitch, I do lyrical kegels
Giving pussy niggas a spiritual fever, a diva
Your whole life is a fashion faux pas
No lie, your stories ain’t magic, know why?
Because your style is... a blind stylist
And my flow is my profile, it's private
You can’t see it, translation: it’s quiet
Fuck a counselor, bitch, I need guidance
Or just a Spanish therapist to give me woosa
Bad Boys 2 style, might use her
For her ability to see the future
I been looking at today since "Loser"
In the Marines, I was a PT Cruiser
My gunnery sergeant used to beat me too much
What up Tucker? Rough motherfucker
You and Colonel Collins could use some burning chronic
Collins was cool as long as I followed the rules
His daughter was hot, but not gonna do nothing with me
I was a Lance Corporal, she wasn’t fucking with me
I’m an ugly... with ugly feet
Sucks for me, she would've fell in love with me
Now I’m stuck with Belladonna and a fucking Klee-
N-E-X, scared to send a text to
N-E-S-A-J, played it yesterday
Memories, bitch, just get the fuck over it
Quick to get sober, but no, I’m going in, so
Catch me at the Super Bowl 64 endzone
Usin' more syringes than the N.O
Saints, which means that I ain't
Which means that I did
Which means that I hate
The reason that I did the shit that
Got me bent all out of shape
So mother, you can never be replaced
Getting booted in the 718
Sick of groupies getting moody, saying (?)
Whatever I say, I know the fucking politics
If you aren’t a novice, to you it isn’t obvious
To the pirate flag wavers
And to all of my frien-nocent neighbors
I thank you, my candor
Is grounds for a liquid pound of Mylanta
Every conjured up question, I answer
No I don’t have crabs, bitch, try cancer
Diagnosed with my arm inside a rope
Calm like I don’t know, but armed to die alone
Where’s arms? Sitting around at the cat scan
Fat chance, I'll give myself a back hand
You fucking bitch, I thought microwaves helped
Fuck it, remove the food, I'll just microwave myself
Mad at me jerkin off? I like to play myself
High is raising Hell to the light of saying "hell"
Like, "What the hell, are you not happy?"
Charles just got happy, and y'all just shot at me
Peter Gilmore owes me his life savings
I need to kill more flows, then I might pay me
It’s a light day, day 4 of the menstrual
Stay for more, it’s suspenseful
I may be crazy, but y'all are in love
You all are in love with him
Baby, baby, Charles is in love
Falling in love with sin
I done been through everything
All the things I never wanted
Never had to hit the club
Not even the 700
I just want to realize something you can never tarnish
My zone; nigga you can never harm it
Bitch, I got the crown; labels wanna hit me up
But I do it for the love, so I don’t give a fuck
I shave my head for it, hit Britney up
For the brains she gave me, and I mean her mind
The loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest
Its best I take a nap
Best I take a nap
Best I take a nap
Best I take a nap
Loser wanna
Bitch, I do lyrical kegels
Giving pussy niggas a spiritual fever, a diva
Your whole life is a fashion faux pas
No lie, your stories ain’t magic, know why?
Because your style is... a blind stylist
And my flow is my profile, it's private
You can’t see it, translation: it’s quiet
Fuck a counselor, bitch, I need guidance
Or just a Spanish therapist to give me woosa
Bad Boys 2 style, might use her
For her ability to see the future
I been looking at today since "Loser"
In the Marines, I was a PT Cruiser
My gunnery sergeant used to beat me too much
What up Tucker? Rough motherfucker
You and Colonel Collins could use some burning chronic
Collins was cool as long as I followed the rules
His daughter was hot, but not gonna do nothing with me
I was a Lance Corporal, she wasn’t fucking with me
I’m an ugly... with ugly feet
Sucks for me, she would've fell in love with me
Now I’m stuck with Belladonna and a fucking Klee-
N-E-X, scared to send a text to
N-E-S-A-J, played it yesterday
Memories, bitch, just get the fuck over it
Quick to get sober, but no, I’m going in, so
Catch me at the Super Bowl 64 endzone
Usin' more syringes than the N.O
Saints, which means that I ain't
Which means that I did
Which means that I hate
The reason that I did the shit that
Got me bent all out of shape
So mother, you can never be replaced
Getting booted in the 718
Sick of groupies getting moody, saying (?)
Whatever I say, I know the fucking politics
If you aren’t a novice, to you it isn’t obvious
To the pirate flag wavers
And to all of my frien-nocent neighbors
I thank you, my candor
Is grounds for a liquid pound of Mylanta
Every conjured up question, I answer
No I don’t have crabs, bitch, try cancer
Diagnosed with my arm inside a rope
Calm like I don’t know, but armed to die alone
Where’s arms? Sitting around at the cat scan
Fat chance, I'll give myself a back hand
You fucking bitch, I thought microwaves helped
Fuck it, remove the food, I'll just microwave myself
Mad at me jerkin off? I like to play myself
High is raising Hell to the light of saying "hell"
Like, "What the hell, are you not happy?"
Charles just got happy, and y'all just shot at me
Peter Gilmore owes me his life savings
I need to kill more flows, then I might pay me
It’s a light day, day 4 of the menstrual
Stay for more, it’s suspenseful
I may be crazy, but y'all are in love
You all are in love with him
Baby, baby, Charles is in love
Falling in love with sin
I done been through everything
All the things I never wanted
Never had to hit the club
Not even the 700
I just want to realize something you can never tarnish
My zone; nigga you can never harm it
Bitch, I got the crown; labels wanna hit me up
But I do it for the love, so I don’t give a fuck
I shave my head for it, hit Britney up
For the brains she gave me, and I mean her mind
The loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest
Its best I take a nap
Best I take a nap
Best I take a nap
Best I take a nap
Loser wanna
( Charles Hamilton )
www.ChordsAZ.com