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lirik lagu the kid’s racist – og hindu kush

[intro: osa]
eh-eh-eh-eh-ay
yo, ay let ’em know, yo

[verse 1: loe pesci & osa]
ayo, cops roll hatin’, pop, lock and dislocate ’em
won’t know it’s them, they rock disguises like roleplayin’
even when it’s cold, rainin’, i go paintin’
think rome’s ancient? i got throws that are cold cases
while toys beefin’ like g.i. joe and cobra agents
i’m more concerned with layin’ low man, you know’m sayin’?
shorty was so patient, body was so bangin’
smokin’ b-tt, no doja and she stog’ blazin’
so hot, got ya’ ho faintin’, hotter than a gold plated phaeton or a phantom on stolen daytons
i’ll kick ya’ door in like home invasions
tourin’ vegas to copenhagen, outside got the tourists waitin’
no bull, you see the correlation?
ease back with ya’ feedback dunny, don’t need ya’ okayin’
ya’ show lame and you’re so flagrantly cocainin’
my whole day so lame, only ate cold ramen
i can’t wait to get home, i got some smoke waitin’
sit alone, zonin’ stoned, cold coma patient
to a t, connect dots like we go trainin’
next spot, might bounce like it’s postdated
next meal, roadk!ll for the crows waitin’
best deal, yo get real, get ya’ dough makin’
buildin’ blocks, my motivation is no debatin’
we stampede, bad seeds with the soul of satan

[chorus: loe pesci & osa]
the kid’s racist, hates b-tches from all places
we darth vaders in chocolate-flavored clark gators
we crate-diggers, you ball-breakers cannot fade us
with clipper scissors or crossfaders, do not play us
the kid’s racist, hates b-tches from all places
we darth vaders in chocolate-flavored clark gators
we crate-diggers, you ball-breakers cannot fade us
with clipper scissors or crossfaders, do not play us

[verse 2: loe pesci & osa]
do not name us, composite sketch or try trace us
for revenge, pop shots where ya’ pops’ grave is
car chases on our way to court cases
and they ain’t got time to budge, text message bribe the judge
attorney at law, part of me says the bar raised us
that’s why we bubble to the top like scotch chasers
god’s favorite, long gone since his mom made him
knew he’d be a criminal, dropped him off at the cop station
conversations, altercations then incarcerations
if i don’t trust you i won’t f-ck with you, even the broad i’m datin’
taught me the art of waitin’
but it turned into a long bid, picture me at auctions for postmodern paintings
you emulators and imitators ain’t innovators
you bit your favorites then sprinkled with artificial flavors
your chance of survival depends on our fickle nature
so we sending little prayers to ya’ incubators
you been traitors, ya’ word don’t mean sh-t player
ya’ b-tch school me? what she got a “eat a d-ck” major?
swing chairs like ric flair, middle fingers fl1ck into mid-air
you sink into despair
you get sorta dissed, yeah, but over thick snares
sounding like a cl-ssic hit there, so sincere
the kind that stick to ya’ head, like a nymph’s hair
from the jizz layers that’s been glazin’ these chicks’ faces

[outro: loe pesci & osa]
do not play us man
we hate y’all b-tches, no matter where you from, you hear me?
we love women, hate y’all b-tches
straight, yo os’ pour that next drink man, you hear me?
i got you, we got the absolut, where’s that sponsorship yo?
ayo shout-outs to richie branson, what’s good papi?
london, ottawa, montreal, canada, whole north america
first world b-tches, we got you yo, we got you

- og hindu kush

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