Stormin tha Gatez
(Fuck you then)
(Bitch!)
(Yo)
Ey, yo!
I be the animalistic, sadistic, cryptic mystic
With the mega ballistics
Check the statistics
I'm stealin' ya sister's digits
Grippin' timid midgets
Tippin' infinite whip-its
Sittin' back, developin' cataracts fast
From all these trash millennial whack rap acts
Oh, you call yourself a gangbangin' thug countin' stacks?
And makin' racks off ya trash ass raps? Bitch relax!
We all know
You still live at home with both yo' folks
You never been poked
You never fucked those hoes
You never even held a gun befo'
Silly bitches pretending they whippin' shit in the kitchen, well listen
Go and find up ya daddy's shiny gun rack
Grab the biggest gat, and make it fast before he comes back
Good! Now find out where he keeps the bullets at
You'll only need one, so don't grab the whole fuckin' pack
Welcome back to the real deal, it's the whole meal
I'm the illest motherfucker who won't hesitate to break the seal
Stormin' the gates, it's back to the basics
I'll let you taste it then peel ya face, just face it
'Cause I'm the quickest shit since the invention of the wheel
I never fuck with bitches who ain't wearing high heels
So kick back and witness the sickness that is this
It's Terror Reid up in this, I'm writing up prescriptions
Find a comfy place, where you can sit down
Now, load the clip and put it in ya mouth and bite down
But before you go splat, think back to another time
When motherfuckers actually rhymed and crossed the line
Man, I'm sick of this shit!
Can't understand you when you spit
But when I can, it's the same motherfuckin' subject
Pussy, lean, Backwoods, gold chains, and Xanax
Nobody gives a fuck how much you spendin' on ya Amex
Well fuck that shit
Bitch, I'm snorting motherfuckin' anthrax!
Chop it up with an axe, kick back, relax
I'll beat myself with a bat
'Cause I'm a maniac, in fact
I'll ask ya fuckin' bitch to spit if I want a comeback
Matter of fact, that's only half my ill intentions
I'll teleport to the morgue and have a dead corpse convention
And after all that, shit, I'll hang up my hat
Hey Satan, if you can hear me dawg, please call me back
(We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service)
(If you feel you have reached this recording at error, please check the number and try your call again)
(Bitch!)
(Yo)
Ey, yo!
I be the animalistic, sadistic, cryptic mystic
With the mega ballistics
Check the statistics
I'm stealin' ya sister's digits
Grippin' timid midgets
Tippin' infinite whip-its
Sittin' back, developin' cataracts fast
From all these trash millennial whack rap acts
Oh, you call yourself a gangbangin' thug countin' stacks?
And makin' racks off ya trash ass raps? Bitch relax!
We all know
You still live at home with both yo' folks
You never been poked
You never fucked those hoes
You never even held a gun befo'
Silly bitches pretending they whippin' shit in the kitchen, well listen
Go and find up ya daddy's shiny gun rack
Grab the biggest gat, and make it fast before he comes back
Good! Now find out where he keeps the bullets at
You'll only need one, so don't grab the whole fuckin' pack
Welcome back to the real deal, it's the whole meal
I'm the illest motherfucker who won't hesitate to break the seal
Stormin' the gates, it's back to the basics
I'll let you taste it then peel ya face, just face it
'Cause I'm the quickest shit since the invention of the wheel
I never fuck with bitches who ain't wearing high heels
So kick back and witness the sickness that is this
It's Terror Reid up in this, I'm writing up prescriptions
Find a comfy place, where you can sit down
Now, load the clip and put it in ya mouth and bite down
But before you go splat, think back to another time
When motherfuckers actually rhymed and crossed the line
Man, I'm sick of this shit!
Can't understand you when you spit
But when I can, it's the same motherfuckin' subject
Pussy, lean, Backwoods, gold chains, and Xanax
Nobody gives a fuck how much you spendin' on ya Amex
Well fuck that shit
Bitch, I'm snorting motherfuckin' anthrax!
Chop it up with an axe, kick back, relax
I'll beat myself with a bat
'Cause I'm a maniac, in fact
I'll ask ya fuckin' bitch to spit if I want a comeback
Matter of fact, that's only half my ill intentions
I'll teleport to the morgue and have a dead corpse convention
And after all that, shit, I'll hang up my hat
Hey Satan, if you can hear me dawg, please call me back
(We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service)
(If you feel you have reached this recording at error, please check the number and try your call again)
Credits
Writer(s): Tanner Petulla
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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