[Intro]
I need lots, and lots, and lots
And lots, and lots, and lots, and lots
And lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n
Lalalalalalacoughcough
[Verse 1]
Hop in ’94 Accord
Tight fits, narrow cuffs, vision field
Wipe away my problems, swish, swish, all these bugs on my windshield
Wheel crunching from knuck' grips, I need an ounce more-more, or more
And watching out for you fuck wits like a school counselor
Shotgun ‘plaining early payment, when Kiggie jewels tassel her
Why she patting me down, hear a ticking satchel? When I’m driving past you’ll
Know it’s fast, you’ll
Miss your spot, bruh
Bleaching blemishes beats, diagnosis Tannish Too-Tall Brugada
Fans losing they shit, like too much bananas; Japan east to Taiwan, they going postal
And your plan better rise those flags up, cuz in a min, I’M GOING POSTALLL
Oops in your life, flooding all summer, please pull up yo dresses up, ladies
Drop so much shit, brazy
Don’t call the plumber, we’re gonna need the fucking Navy
Awhhh
[Chorus 1]
Let’s get that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots
I’ll need that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots
Would never be the baddest guy, with lots’n, lots’n, lots
If you want to know what satisfies, it’s lots’n, lots’n, la, la, la ,la
[Verse 2]
Lamenting
Your fall, as I rise
See I would cry, but I’m
A fucking liar, I’m tired of nice guy
Laminating my first lines
I’ll Ebay those bucks for forgetting keys in a new ride
Or a pre-nup for my new wife, for the third time
Lose yourself in this light 'til you mess up your eyes
Minimize the slighted whines, my word’s jack shit as kinship ties
Toss a fifty while going fifty in a two-five when come the Five-0
And I’m not YMCMB enough to get paid for wearing a disguise, so
Let’s get that lots’n, lots
I’ll need that lots’n, lots’n, lots
Watch, this, Arab, springing with no stops
Take a lot more than spec ops
Got my vert locked
Earth burly-perseverance bestowed, not for the Frail Squad
Want it bowed, boxed, daily 'til drop, brah--
Focusing on getting cancer
Burn through the filter, I’ve been in a trance for
A day, or two, or three, or four, or a lot
Lies in question, I’ma b-be the answer
So watch’em circles you dot
Agh
Segway past you, like mall cops
Our Heaven’s mixed with Molotov
Velveeta cheese on fire, like Ghost Rider--
[Bridge]
(FUcking lame-ass motherfuckers goddamn I'm not fucking with you at, ALL)
[[Whatsoever]]
And also:
[Interlude]
Your boisterous a load of bollocks, bruh
I’ll make your portrait portray a Pollock, bruh
Might need no wallop, their concrete kicks can’t trip no nautical
Pussies only bushwhack after my howitzer
Checks out of balance, sure
But the UZ ‘zecs run the galaxy
Wanna get soaked in the Apple’s juice or gasoline?
[Chorus 2]
Let’s get that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots'n, lots
I’ll need that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots'n, lots'n, lots'n, LOTS
Never act the baddest, with lots’n, lots’n, lots
How much gain reaped from passiveness’s breeding…?
Hmm…
This hope, I am conceiving
Our names, to them, no meaning, while the wicked rise, us patronize
Hate being a downer, but at the same time, am I the only one fucking here dissatisfied...?!
...Ha ha
Huh...
Yeah I gotta...
I'm gonna...
I'll--I'll catch ya'all later
(aye, yuh)
[Mixtape Outro]
"Wow...I mean, this is a, like, really cool thing you guys got going here, and like, there's a lot of, like, awesome creative energy, but...I can't help but ask the question...hhhow can I make money off this? Well, more specifically, how can *I*, make money off of this?"
