Bastard (Freestyle)
Yea, yea, yea
Yea, yea, ha, Wes up, Wes up
Hey, what it do, what it do, yeah uh
Sweetapple Wes, (Some people call him Sweetapple Wesley)
But whatever, still nestle when it's crunch time though
Ay, never knew my father
Yeah I'm such a bastard
Still getting plastered
Like back in Paulding County
With 8ball McCall, Kurt and Trey
Wake up pull the curtains back
And partake in the same shit again?
I don't know if y'all should listen
When Wes be spitting
These combos and flows
Off of the top of the dome
You got a bitch flow
Ya need some maxi pads?
Still run shit like gym class
But I threw my back out
When I hit it from the back
Smack that ass
Used to sell pounds of grass
Now I'm flipping zips of mad bitch
Like Ellen Degenerous, shit
Breaking bad way I sell this method
Put that shit back in retrospect for a sec
Take ya bitch, lick her
Breasts, fuck Wes
Damn Now I got that C cup breath
Still spitting mint condition, I'm wicked
Step to me with writtens
Then you taking an L
Like Lickety-split in 8 mile
Waiting on me to fall?
You going be waiting for awhile
Been plotting since a child
At my house where the wild things were
Such a blur
Take a toke and floating
Used to snort coke
And joke about going locomotive
But I'm sitting back
Laughing up in smoke
Like Cheech and Chong
Yea my high what you need to get up on
While I get up in ya baby moms arms
Oh my goodness
Oh my goddess, oh my god
Know I'm on some (yup, yup)
Know I'm on one (yup, yup)
Know I'm on some, yeah
Know I'm on one, yeah
Know I'm on some (hah)
But no I'm not done, Ay yo
Like Brennon's dad's fetish
I be getting neck like a necklace
Exe's mad jealous
Wes so high like heaven angelic
Catch up to ya dog, no relish
Rhymes cold like icebergs
No wedges or lettuce
Make ya bitch sing like Greece
Then catch my nut like Vangelis
No stresses or testing
Just these testes
Smacking her asscheeks
Same shit we did last week
Ain't that sweet
Flying higher than planes 'outta Lockheed
Engineer with ya dear, come here
Mix it up then I master, no clowning
Just Big Macking
Until we travel to 1000 islands
Yea ain't a secret I got tha sauce no mott's
But we can get to spooning
Put on a show like Harry Truman
Just another human about to lose it
Thank god for this music
(Really though)
Yo, thank god for this music
Thank god for this music
Yea, Thank god for this music
Thank god, thank thank god
(You're welcome, hah)
Yea, yea, ha, Wes up, Wes up
Hey, what it do, what it do, yeah uh
Sweetapple Wes, (Some people call him Sweetapple Wesley)
But whatever, still nestle when it's crunch time though
Ay, never knew my father
Yeah I'm such a bastard
Still getting plastered
Like back in Paulding County
With 8ball McCall, Kurt and Trey
Wake up pull the curtains back
And partake in the same shit again?
I don't know if y'all should listen
When Wes be spitting
These combos and flows
Off of the top of the dome
You got a bitch flow
Ya need some maxi pads?
Still run shit like gym class
But I threw my back out
When I hit it from the back
Smack that ass
Used to sell pounds of grass
Now I'm flipping zips of mad bitch
Like Ellen Degenerous, shit
Breaking bad way I sell this method
Put that shit back in retrospect for a sec
Take ya bitch, lick her
Breasts, fuck Wes
Damn Now I got that C cup breath
Still spitting mint condition, I'm wicked
Step to me with writtens
Then you taking an L
Like Lickety-split in 8 mile
Waiting on me to fall?
You going be waiting for awhile
Been plotting since a child
At my house where the wild things were
Such a blur
Take a toke and floating
Used to snort coke
And joke about going locomotive
But I'm sitting back
Laughing up in smoke
Like Cheech and Chong
Yea my high what you need to get up on
While I get up in ya baby moms arms
Oh my goodness
Oh my goddess, oh my god
Know I'm on some (yup, yup)
Know I'm on one (yup, yup)
Know I'm on some, yeah
Know I'm on one, yeah
Know I'm on some (hah)
But no I'm not done, Ay yo
Like Brennon's dad's fetish
I be getting neck like a necklace
Exe's mad jealous
Wes so high like heaven angelic
Catch up to ya dog, no relish
Rhymes cold like icebergs
No wedges or lettuce
Make ya bitch sing like Greece
Then catch my nut like Vangelis
No stresses or testing
Just these testes
Smacking her asscheeks
Same shit we did last week
Ain't that sweet
Flying higher than planes 'outta Lockheed
Engineer with ya dear, come here
Mix it up then I master, no clowning
Just Big Macking
Until we travel to 1000 islands
Yea ain't a secret I got tha sauce no mott's
But we can get to spooning
Put on a show like Harry Truman
Just another human about to lose it
Thank god for this music
(Really though)
Yo, thank god for this music
Thank god for this music
Yea, Thank god for this music
Thank god, thank thank god
(You're welcome, hah)
Credits
Writer(s): Wesley Sweetapple
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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