Where Is Eklavya? (Freestyle)
Yeah, the phone's off, I broke that shit in two
Mid summer, but I'm trapped in winter blues
Ain't no pressing, I can't do no interviews
Heard that boy only talks, when it's in an Interlude
On my Ps and Qs
Just to make a word play
Crossing too many Ts, you'd think that
Church is like my workplace
Dotting eyes (i's) with her just for fun
Now she wants to get to third-base
If I hit it, then I gotta make a home-run
This is purely for the surveys
I'm in my Garfield
So she slipping off my plans
You catch me on the web
But he ju' on the 'gram
Bought a glass table
Just to blow like 30 grams
Fuck being boy band
When I can talk in bands
6 times that I dated
5 of them were hoes
5pm I'm jaded
Only been awake since 4
4 aces, I played it
Shooting threes on-off the court
3 pills, I take it
2 red, 1 blue, Ashley Cole
High prices for instrumental peace
I was spending with my mental peace
I visit hell like every fall
Still looking for a centerpiece
If you breathing you my enemy
Got psychopathic tendencies
Broadcasting all these 808s
From Cleveland to down Tennessee
They countering 'em melodies
You can't be standing next to me
I DM you the recipe
Still burn it, out of jealousy
The only thing that's friend to me
Is weed, ecstasy, hennessy
I shower myself with some acid
Man, I really fuck with chemistry
She said liquor and cocaine don't go together
So I should take nothing
She knows that neither does she and loyalty
But I dont say nothing
They keep telling me, they got bars, heard they music
Didn't gain nothing
Hungry for the competition, in the booth again
Done ate nothing
Friday morning, it's another drop-in
I'm smoking up laying in a coffin
Told 'em stop, but bitches still talking
I'm in love with Houston, Dallas, Austin
Mr. White all up in my pocket
And you know, he does all the knocking
I don't need to step in a public gym
Just to flex out all her options
Live in the studio, I sleep on the couch
I live in hell, you can't come to my house
Made an album with my laptop's cursor pad
Fuck that rat shit, man I don't need a mouse
Run in reverse, now you running your mouth
Tellin' bitches we tight for some clout
But you ain't ever seen where I sleep
So honestly fuck is you talking about?
You ain't a keeper, no wonder why you leak goals
I ain't James Harden, I'm clutch, keep yo' free throws
Too many Xs in my life, I'm typing up cheat codes
You can see the devil in my eyes when I breathe smoke
Mid summer, but I'm trapped in winter blues
Ain't no pressing, I can't do no interviews
Heard that boy only talks, when it's in an Interlude
On my Ps and Qs
Just to make a word play
Crossing too many Ts, you'd think that
Church is like my workplace
Dotting eyes (i's) with her just for fun
Now she wants to get to third-base
If I hit it, then I gotta make a home-run
This is purely for the surveys
I'm in my Garfield
So she slipping off my plans
You catch me on the web
But he ju' on the 'gram
Bought a glass table
Just to blow like 30 grams
Fuck being boy band
When I can talk in bands
6 times that I dated
5 of them were hoes
5pm I'm jaded
Only been awake since 4
4 aces, I played it
Shooting threes on-off the court
3 pills, I take it
2 red, 1 blue, Ashley Cole
High prices for instrumental peace
I was spending with my mental peace
I visit hell like every fall
Still looking for a centerpiece
If you breathing you my enemy
Got psychopathic tendencies
Broadcasting all these 808s
From Cleveland to down Tennessee
They countering 'em melodies
You can't be standing next to me
I DM you the recipe
Still burn it, out of jealousy
The only thing that's friend to me
Is weed, ecstasy, hennessy
I shower myself with some acid
Man, I really fuck with chemistry
She said liquor and cocaine don't go together
So I should take nothing
She knows that neither does she and loyalty
But I dont say nothing
They keep telling me, they got bars, heard they music
Didn't gain nothing
Hungry for the competition, in the booth again
Done ate nothing
Friday morning, it's another drop-in
I'm smoking up laying in a coffin
Told 'em stop, but bitches still talking
I'm in love with Houston, Dallas, Austin
Mr. White all up in my pocket
And you know, he does all the knocking
I don't need to step in a public gym
Just to flex out all her options
Live in the studio, I sleep on the couch
I live in hell, you can't come to my house
Made an album with my laptop's cursor pad
Fuck that rat shit, man I don't need a mouse
Run in reverse, now you running your mouth
Tellin' bitches we tight for some clout
But you ain't ever seen where I sleep
So honestly fuck is you talking about?
You ain't a keeper, no wonder why you leak goals
I ain't James Harden, I'm clutch, keep yo' free throws
Too many Xs in my life, I'm typing up cheat codes
You can see the devil in my eyes when I breathe smoke
Credits
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
Other Album Tracks
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.