[Verse] I slide by coming at ya in Hi-Fi (WHAT UP) Tryna see if you pussies got nine lives (PULL UP) Everytime I don't feast, I fine dine turn ya Corpse to bread, turn ya blood into wine Mr. Disinfected heart pumping garbage, still clogging my veins I remember nights of loneliness and day full of pain With the shadows, I would battle till I hemorrhage my brain Synthetic blunts had me daze for days I would succumb to my weakness, crazed from the drinking Locked in a mode, no control overthinking Weight up on my shoulder, cannot carry it no more Ears on mute and my eyes on slow-mo
[Chorus] You wouldn't fuck with the one they call You wouldn't fuck with the one they call Bones, the god of the microphone Straight out the 517 zone You wouldn't fuck with the one they call You wouldn't fuck with the one they call Bones, the god of the microphone Straight out the 517 zone
[Interlude] You want me to keep going? Alright
[Outro] So I was chilling on the corner, and what else? I was rolling up a blunt, and what else? Said I was chilling on the corner, and what else? Said I was rolling up a blunt, and what else? Bones, the god of the microphoneTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
