HOL' UP

(BEEFY)
Oh no, not again
They say the fatter the Barry
The batter the Gary
The chatter the Larry
The bladder the Harry
Dowen hits these rhymes
Flexing all his dimes
Got Fully naked
He's on the New York Times

Chicken tastes sick
These boners are thick
Just like the big bricks
Just give it a pick
And devour the skin
Just give it a lick
And get the badge in
Bosh

I don't get anxiety
I just rise up
I don't get society
My eyes are up
I don't write a diary
My future's up
I don't like priority
My time is up (Yo)

Grab a can of lucazade
Why you smell like mucus babe
Why you kissing Rufus babe
Who the frig is Andrew Tate
Sitting in maccies at 4 in the morning
Go back home I can hear my ex yawning

This unanimous
Like Diana Fuss
All these analysts
Smoking cannabis
Don't know what they're saying
They hoping I'll adjust
Without breaking bust
Never start to rust
And develop a frightening crust

Keep me safe and watch my life
Never strafe and bust my knife
I'm all bite no bark
Don't catch me at dark
Had fun with a shark
Don't give me a mark
Got stabbed in a park
Signed deals with T. Stark

I don't get anxiety
I just rise up
I don't get society
My eyes are up
I don't write a diary
My future's up
I don't like priority
My time is up (Yo)
Im Gone



Credits
Writer(s): Cohen Alger
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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