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lirik lagu rotten apples part. 2 – lee monro x ello. c

[intro: [?]]
b*tch, what?
apples [?] the bad b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
apples [?] the bad b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
the bad b*tch, what? the bad b*tch, what? (stay rotten)

[verse 1: lee monro]
twenty bucks says it’s nuff said, you f*ckheads
your double d cups on the nightstand where my mind’s kept
right wing, but i’m high, lyin’, i’m f*ckin’ sober as
[?] only known for exposin’ [?] from the overpass (pass)
pass whatever, must last forever
kanye [?] c*nt [?] blunt, no cheddar
tough, no leather, better off with the fisticuffs
get a gist of a b*tch and i’m liftin off on you sittin’ ducks (what?)
so call the roll while i make some calls in a roll
so many f*ckin’ 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—f*ck
but that’s us, looser than f*ckin’ 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 f*cked 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 f*ck with us and prepared for these various outcomes (b*tch)
strugglin’, your current life, or 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 k!llin’ ’em, still they feelin’ me like i’m [?]
livin’ in a prism where heaven and h*ll collide, we classy as f*ck
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 sh*t her pantaloons
use my d*ck 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’, [?]
[?] way above your chance [?] dance
this is a beat necromance [?] viper
[?] impressed, not the lightest
you got the motherf*ckin’ market on your mind
and the bar was not raised by your millimetre line
ayo, [?] we change it temporello
you hot and cold with your d*mn 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 [?] formaldehyde after the flames
[?] like acclaim, die hard like maclaine
and you think you got the idea of what’s goin’ on
[?] articles to read [?] in the song
[?] 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
[?] tabs of acid, don’t confuse [?] 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 sh*ll, fragile [?]
act like f*ggotry’s a virtue, squeal shrill if you want to
but you won’t change sh*t, 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
b*tches paramount to the preacher molotov
lord st**z 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 f*ckin’ 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 doin’ fine (all right, ayy)
it’s forthwrite, b*tch, 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 f*ck with me, i’ll 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 ([?])

[verse 5: [?]]
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, [?] 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 f*ckin’ want, there’s no off b*tton to stop it
finish the tape or rehab, those were my only options
so f*ck it, gimme a slot, so the token asian is spotted
hi*ya, that’s what i’m feelin’ on the regular
ciggie b*tt brain, i sn*tch your lighter like i stole your flame
(oh sh*t) ah sh*t, what the f*ck’s his name
that dropkick spittin’ from a skeleton frame, it’s [?]
[verse 6: [?]]
i don’t write raps for fans, i write raps for sl*ts
i rap [?] 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 sl*t
and if you heard what i heard, it’s like, man, she can f*ck
look, big daddy kane [?] dennis gave her the rod, man
guy richie [?] what, man
maybe laid next to her on the bed havin’ a bat
while she [?] in her sn*tch, 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 [?] 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 f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
the bad b*tch, what? the bad b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
the bad b*tch, what? the bad b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
we the rotten f*ckin’ apples [?] b*tch, what?
the bad b*tch, what? said, the bad b*tch, what?

[outro: [?]]
what, c*nt?
[?] yep

- lee monro x ello c

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