Future Legend
Motherfuck the Feds! They heads all bent
From growing up with lead like zeppelins
Lose ya leverage y'all jockeys on my carriage
Stomping berries then sippin' the beverage
And oh, how their clips infect them!
Nothing like power, right? Fuck the reverend!
I said, "Fuck the reverends"
All the Tubmans coming out they dressers
Then more requested
Ten percent all uninvested that's Heaven's Gate shit
A makeshift tape with a face fixed on cake myths
Add a great shift in vocal inflection
Now everybody's brow sweating
And everybody's mom's getting they purse out to pay admission
Turning to pilgrims to save they children
How you gon' profit off hope sold to mamas?
Copeland's got choppers through tax-evaded dollars
And half it pay for nada 'cause he pocket it
Shit, his pants thick 'cause his wallace is
His hand sticking to his collar in acknowledgment
I'll just sleep on couches and cots until my commas split
Pretend it's Ramadan and live off potted shit
But yo' ass the common kid
'Sup, Pint?
Candy-purp dandy and he handling his handiwork
Thanks for asking, Annie's hurt?
It's Pint the Sphynx with his hand in skirts
Vanish when the candle's burnt
Cameras miss him, panic hits 'em
Then again, they shouldn't fuck with ambiverts
Catch me standing where the fuck the fork occurs
Deep in bottles of vintage port tryna score hors d'oeuvres
Or lure the service and score with her
Then pour a bourbon and tour her cervix
Lord, of course she hurt, sure
She want the worst door to door
You ain't finding portions nor servings of gorgeous persons
She bored with earthlings, shit, I'm bored, too
She's sure they refurbished the lou
I purchase the port and so it go, I'm, I'm
Annie, how you feel right now?
Annie, are you good?
Annie, how you feel?
From growing up with lead like zeppelins
Lose ya leverage y'all jockeys on my carriage
Stomping berries then sippin' the beverage
And oh, how their clips infect them!
Nothing like power, right? Fuck the reverend!
I said, "Fuck the reverends"
All the Tubmans coming out they dressers
Then more requested
Ten percent all uninvested that's Heaven's Gate shit
A makeshift tape with a face fixed on cake myths
Add a great shift in vocal inflection
Now everybody's brow sweating
And everybody's mom's getting they purse out to pay admission
Turning to pilgrims to save they children
How you gon' profit off hope sold to mamas?
Copeland's got choppers through tax-evaded dollars
And half it pay for nada 'cause he pocket it
Shit, his pants thick 'cause his wallace is
His hand sticking to his collar in acknowledgment
I'll just sleep on couches and cots until my commas split
Pretend it's Ramadan and live off potted shit
But yo' ass the common kid
'Sup, Pint?
Candy-purp dandy and he handling his handiwork
Thanks for asking, Annie's hurt?
It's Pint the Sphynx with his hand in skirts
Vanish when the candle's burnt
Cameras miss him, panic hits 'em
Then again, they shouldn't fuck with ambiverts
Catch me standing where the fuck the fork occurs
Deep in bottles of vintage port tryna score hors d'oeuvres
Or lure the service and score with her
Then pour a bourbon and tour her cervix
Lord, of course she hurt, sure
She want the worst door to door
You ain't finding portions nor servings of gorgeous persons
She bored with earthlings, shit, I'm bored, too
She's sure they refurbished the lou
I purchase the port and so it go, I'm, I'm
Annie, how you feel right now?
Annie, are you good?
Annie, how you feel?
Credits
Writer(s): Waffgang Mozart
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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