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lirik lagu the bebop tunes: a short album by bo, – bo, leatherpants

song 1
introverted introduction:
(instrumental)

song 2
burpfry:

intro]
ah f*ck, *cough*

verse]
technical assistance, fidgeting the new perimeter
paralysed paralymics, own old premier
gazey thought hearted and relationship departed
the fart farmer’s armor got disrupted by a green color
colorist, art
this n*gga focused on politics, honouring the great king bo, in parliament. circle tight, leaking friends, drippin’ from a broken pipe
burpfry, loosie n*ggas reached the local p*rn site
testosterone levels filthy as the guilty scum, heart pumps
feeling all the goosebumps ,n*gga!

song 3
tooseday:

intro]
*cough* yo

verse]
adjust your jaw backwards, 5 centimeters
soft tube, tunin’ into a f*ggot swingin’ lever
freaky demons in him bet he needs an apostle
incorrectly inserted posture, big packed luggage
engaging into my sh*t, n*gga why tf you twerking?
crunchy jerkins are jerky and literally heat burned
hoe tendencies, and h**ry induced tolerance
bucket*lifting vertically, sober point rocketing uh
brain f*ck, i wanna get my d*ck sucked
lip tucked, grudgin’ when his mouth wide open
hopin’ he dont pass out from passin’ against his backend
lashin out, vanished quick, crunchin’ his own rotten pen
lend a n*gga lesson do this & that, cop a good snack
back to back, smack yo’ ass, hit the soul, (dont slack)
b*tch n*ggas get spit at with peace love & compassion
narrative harassing, scoffed on, by mind*grasping
just calmly dividing pieces into fractions simultaneously
poodles p**ping,goofy headed, hardly foolish skippy loopin
chewing gooey gum, fl!ckin’ thumbs, kinda going numb (ah)

verse 2]
moment of apocalypse, promising pick*pocketing
old murderers, approached the orphanage offering (yup)
bucket clinch, flinched and grabbed from a certain inch
bamboozle looseie brains, couching til your nuts itch
vicious fist ditched, woe precious prowling pony thrift
marajuana scented clothing got his cr*ppy senses cl!cked
sticky s*m*n seemed colorless with a tight p*ss
garnish the whole garden, prolly thirsty from his salty fish
look, good diss, dissappointed, pointing into pollonium
gravity filled potters, red lobster caused pneumonia
fridge lop, open and grab all the items ,sh*t
hands catnapped, fingerpoking, hm snappin
snap your piff blower, fl!ck a stick til its lit, b*tch
church services prepared money to go buy danks
party kinda funky, shove yo’ mind settings, get a spank
harder as james harden shooting from the mid range tank

outro]
crockpot ducked, stock tightened, stinky like scoffy socks
tricky shot blocked, hogged, and these f*gs r*t*rded
deeply departed with, hoe n*ggas who always act like garbage
dreams appear clearer than what you see in the f*cking mirror
ah sh*t *laugh*

song 4
grapeseed:

verse]
transmitted diseases, caused by inner demons
a slight move could turn your eyes into peeper
god bless africa, f*ck the politians
if i die on this earth it will be inferior repetion
i dont care bout your mother or father stop telling me bout ’em
i dont care bout your sister or brother stop telling me bout ’em
joyful presentations, lacks of interference
time go fast, you could see thru the distance
f*cking up the whites, black people are exposed
i box and bruise, these b*tches
now im the one opposed
uncensored on the beat hoe you f*cking with explosives (x2)
b*tch

verse 2]
runny nose like i sniffed booger into my nostrils
longer than a water hose from the top to bottom
lawyers lyin’ at the case and the court adjourned
hair permed, seeking weird ass corny terms, didn’t learn
would rather.. sell sacks of green ferns
spliff burned when i pass the joint wait for your turn
lungs cooked from the heat by the spliff
moving calmly thru, feel the wind blow swift, lifted up
translate languages, you can’t hear me
packages packed according to the manufacturing
liquid, nitrogen & farieanheit, you could ask again
im managing, n*ggas who been out of order
the reporter reported drugs that were imported and it was stolen on some forgery
and i formerly approached the lady, anonymously
apologies go to all the abandoned properties

song 5
darnit:

intro]
*yo i represent the set man,i am the set. kickin back dealing with the humpboy man. doin that crazy sh*t, man be out there crushin muf*ckers on the bump, bam! man

verse]
scents of adolescents, darnit man i had enough
b*tch whatup, you twerking in my face i dont wanna f*ck
pancake cinnamon, dip it up with benelyn
syringes injected, feel the pain when the sh*t is in
i take the cash out and put it in my backpocket
humming mantras, open my chakras
folktales be poked and dipped inside a couple of pots
flock of b*tches blocked and chugged in a trashcan
on the way to rehab, burping saucy kebabs
no other way for you f*ggots to even try and see that
d*mn i got hot bars scared on mg soul, if i..
commit crimes i won’t even run from po’
crawl out into a hammered grunge pipe, land mammals bee hive
swing jive, crisp fries with his p*ss dried
fatigued quick, lungs chipped, oftenly really spits
but i got my mood going like..
yeah it go like.. yup
yeah it go like..

verse 2]
call up on the boys that carry coal with bucklers
two foes that walk wit me, treat ’em all like nancy paupers
appear faded ,repairing programmed lawnmowers
recognised as a pernicious member of a trashthrower
artificial n*gga, h*rny as a f*cking admirer
spliff flinched, scratching pimples that grow and f*cking itch
b*tch, dont ask what i be doing
moving between dead souls without ’em even looking
bi*polar disordered, a little bit depressed
kinda out of order, watch me get you blessed
f*ck, i used to be obsessed
now & then i dip a spliff on my lips
fl!cking ashes, no time to hit a l!ck
pocket stash a secret like a n*gga hid a sh*tty act
lately i been thru it, and i dont f*ck with sh*t
and i dont f*ck with you

outro]
the end

song 6
schiff:

intro]
whatup (x6)
look sh*t uh *cough*

verse]
my mom found the papers of hash, had to
dash quick into my cash, seen a ton a f*gs
they slipped in the trash, my mind takes a nap
flip*flop thru the doorstep the nanny watching
play chess while i move horses sh*t
i dont really got to count corpses, facts
oftenly, im just bike peddling
get to, paralyse my adrenaline
f*ck

verse 2]
and im too glued to my music
now that n*gga want to test, my urine
my dad wondering how i got here
i been too good in my past years
see, im just tryna be myself and i dont really wanna get some help
then on sundays im just restless, my gut been telling me my sh*t
my heart been showing me my sh*t, really im just on my sh*t

- bo leatherpants

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