Dude

Lyrics

[Chorus: Asher Roth] (Dude) Yeah, yeah, chilling in some shorts Sipping on a cold one, sitting on the porch Only chopsticks, I don't ever use a fork Go for it, little dork, don't you know I'm that— (Dude) Yo, yo, born from a stork Kung Pao chicken, you can pile on the pork When I get bored, I just call up Scott Storch House phone, no cord, of course I'm that— (Dude) [Verse 1: Asher Roth] Cut my hair in two years, drink beer, get weird Get clear advice when my friends tell me get real No deal, I be sipping smoothies and shit Getting stoned and then I go alone to movies and shit Bolognese homemade, only played croquet In a cloak, and like old episodes of Soul Train Run with the O'Jays, Whole Foods for the groceries OJ, locs, cherries, and Yoplait No way, José Cuervo in a bear coat Heirloom tomatoes, grow my ver' own Barebone, dare you to out-stare a scarecrow Blow whale's airhole, hair like scared werewolf (Wolf) Get down, sheets got a high thread count Red gown, gets drowned out by my bed sound Loud, TED talks on the iPad Old search says Bang Bros., my bad Good weed got me talking 'bout deities Aphrodites, sucker for good lighting And neat handwriting, sorta like calligraphy Trick or treat at thirty, dressed up as Jackie Tree [Break: Asher Roth] (Dude) [Chorus: Asher Roth] (Dude) Yeah, yeah, chilling in some shorts Sipping on a cold one, sitting on the porch Only chopsticks, I don't ever use a fork Go for it, little dork, don't you know I'm that— (Dude) Yo, yo, born from a stork Kung Pao chicken, you can pile on the pork When I get bored, I just call up Scott Storch House phone, no cord, of course I'm that— (Dude) [Verse 2: Curren$y & Asher Roth] Ugh, niggas is clones, I hand out styles like— I make them at home, beneath my workshop lights Hundreds of these, it's nothing to me At home over the stoves, making these keys (Dude) Laughing at these little niggas mimicking me They sliding down razor blades, landing in alcohol rivers I can't get with 'em, nah, Spitta chilling And I still claim Jets at your motherfucking— With a batch of pot brownies in the oven and some hoes coming Same old shit spinning, just the toilet bowl different Bathrooms bigger, bigger mirrors Hoes seeing themselves in 'em and having twisted visions of us living Coexisting, demolishing my pimping None of that asking where I'm going Furthermore, when I'm coming back No wine, no top hat, I still pull a disappearing act, ill (Dude) Never die, motherfucker, that's what I say Getting money out your bitches every goddamn day Homie say he want a show, I want ten grand I'ma need ten more when my plane land Baby never met another nigga higher or hotter Bitch, just hit the weed, don't ask where I got it In the presence of these international globetrotters On the bus, balling out in different towns with my partners (Dude) [Break: Asher Roth & Curren$y] Ill, ill Life La la la la, la la la la (Dude) [Outro: Asher Roth] (Dude) (Dude) (Dude)