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lirik lagu orange juice – earl sweatshirt

[verse: earl sweatshirt]
so i’m guessin’ there’s questions that need adressin’ huh?
like how we fresh in our adolescence and wreckin’ em.
hear new tracks, he destined to make a mess of em,
snappin’ necks and records in matter of seconds check em son.
lost an erection and found it in an aggressive nun.
f-ckin’ chin-checkin punks ’til he’s out of breath and done,
no affection, he’s doper than cess sessions son
chillin’ for a while on a pile of the rest of em.
let the crowd choose who can f-ckin’ last longer,
it’s the rap monger, rap monster earl sweat attack, conquer.
lose least, n-gg-s lost like the last blanca chica that we picked up at the last concert,
please, get out ya seat, get out ya seat, verses written with scalpels,
he’s the junior king standin’ out shoutin’ on the balcony,
how come he’s not in counseling? f-cker’s loud while he’s sound asleep
heard he was dope as sour d. n-gg- was courage cowardly?
state gold, alchemy, n-gg- we rap’s alpha team,
mr. teen and mr. t with a mouth full of powder and a nose full of chowder,
he’s chopping up all the doubters, see now watch him count the bodies like b-tches be countin’ calories

[verse: tyler the creator]
f-ck with the wolves we startin’ to bark viciously,
catch us in a pile of bodies where dead b-tches be,
box logo hoodies and goodies from buddies that understand that b-st-rd was buzzin like woody so we get it for free.
had to duct tape the mother goose the mask was off,
i stumbled down a hill then i had jill jack me off,
harder than my d-ck when taylor swift is in my bas-m-nt,
cause i’ve been doin’ this since proof f-cked christopher robinson.
wolf gang knitted on my cotton like some smelly, dirty, rotten n-gg-r picked it from a cotton gin.
do not give a f-ck i’ve got the swagger of a virgin’s d-ck,
but if i did it would be bigger than earl’s upper lip,
sip sizzurp, su-preme on my shizzirt,
i munch a bunch of tacos with waverly’s favorite wizard,
the favorite n-gg-r turned into freddy kruger,
and this that raw sh-t, dead bodies chopped up in the sewer.
from the palms of jeffrey dahmer, baby mamas said the kicks,
beat like the brown lip balm that was made for rihanna,
all you f-ckin’ bloggin’ f-ggots yappin’ up that extra sh-t,
i’ll shove b-st-rd down your throat, regurgitate my excrement,
them 2dopeboyz is fairies they’re peter like boysenberries,
meet the scary, turn his white -ss to a jim carry twin,
a f-ckin’ sausage fest will them shaky n-gg-s get married then,
2dopeboyz don’t want beef, they’re just overweight vegitarians.

- earl sweatshirt

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