World Champ
Yeah
Put the cucumber in the vodka
It's a cruel summer, it been hot, bro
Mom claim Italian, pops a city Jew, they was both more pasta than latkes
Pops always said, "Watch your posture"
He ain't know my shoulders held lots up
Used to hold me in the mirror, say I was champ of the world
Shit wasn't gossip, no
Accurate forecast
Lookin' forward, don't need more past
Puttin' rappers in the compost 'cause can't afford any more trash
I don't got anymore passes, feel compassion slippin' 'way
All this savageness in a cage
Whole culture is MMA
Watch the lightning in the clouds, everything pretty 'til it hits Earth
Our construction is destruction, tell me really, what's the shit worth?
What's the purpose for a wordsmith if the doors they supposed to open
'Bout to be permanently closed in?
Is it really all just for coping?
Put the cucumber in the vodka
It's a cruel summer, it been hot, bro
Mom claim Italian, pops a city Jew, they was both more pasta than latkes
Pops always said, "Watch your posture"
He ain't know my shoulders held lots up
Used to hold me in the mirror, say I was champ of the world
Shit wasn't gossip
On my own, I don't got a roster
Dread on my mind like a Rasta
Stressed all the time, pour the sauce up
Young redundant, never puntin'
Fourth and long, always find a way
I be strong my own kind of way
I be strong my own kind of way
Shit, that's all I been tryna say
If you got a problem with me, I don't really gotta care no more, ooh
I'm gon' walk in my peace, I don't gotta interfere no more
Who want it?
Bitch, I ain't no newcomer
Cool as the cucumber in the vodka, baby, it's a new summer
I don't got a new number
Bitch, I got the same doggone line
Might be hard to find though, somewhere lost in my mind
Still gon' be the champ though
Still gon' be the champ
Still gon' be the champ though
Still gon' be the champ
Still gon' be the champ though
Still gon' be the champ
Even if it ain't a world left, baby, I'll be damned, uh
Put the cucumber in the vodka
It's a cruel summer, it been hot, bro
Mom claim Italian, pops a city Jew, they was both more pasta than latkes
Pops always said, "Watch your posture"
He ain't know my shoulders held lots up
Used to hold me in the mirror, say I was champ of the world
Shit wasn't gossip, no
Accurate forecast
Lookin' forward, don't need more past
Puttin' rappers in the compost 'cause can't afford any more trash
I don't got anymore passes, feel compassion slippin' 'way
All this savageness in a cage
Whole culture is MMA
Watch the lightning in the clouds, everything pretty 'til it hits Earth
Our construction is destruction, tell me really, what's the shit worth?
What's the purpose for a wordsmith if the doors they supposed to open
'Bout to be permanently closed in?
Is it really all just for coping?
Put the cucumber in the vodka
It's a cruel summer, it been hot, bro
Mom claim Italian, pops a city Jew, they was both more pasta than latkes
Pops always said, "Watch your posture"
He ain't know my shoulders held lots up
Used to hold me in the mirror, say I was champ of the world
Shit wasn't gossip
On my own, I don't got a roster
Dread on my mind like a Rasta
Stressed all the time, pour the sauce up
Young redundant, never puntin'
Fourth and long, always find a way
I be strong my own kind of way
I be strong my own kind of way
Shit, that's all I been tryna say
If you got a problem with me, I don't really gotta care no more, ooh
I'm gon' walk in my peace, I don't gotta interfere no more
Who want it?
Bitch, I ain't no newcomer
Cool as the cucumber in the vodka, baby, it's a new summer
I don't got a new number
Bitch, I got the same doggone line
Might be hard to find though, somewhere lost in my mind
Still gon' be the champ though
Still gon' be the champ
Still gon' be the champ though
Still gon' be the champ
Still gon' be the champ though
Still gon' be the champ
Even if it ain't a world left, baby, I'll be damned, uh
Credits
Writer(s): Unknown Writer, Eddie Best, Eugene Dorsett, Rufus Mitchell, Marlon Sean Cirker, Theodor Bengt Arbus
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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