Better Things

Lyrics
[Intro] We got this drunk dude in the middle of the street (He just told me, he just told me) He said he was gonna shit on us Oh my god, look at him Don't need that shit I look like I need that? (You can bet I got better things to do than that) (You can bet I got better things) [Verse 1: Oh No] Now look what this cheddar brings Custom everything, swerve in everybody's lane I pull up to the curve then beef with 'em like Clubber Lang (hey, woman) Then throw their chick in some nuts like P.F. Changs I call that special the Kung Pao The magnum come loud then kick in the mouth, the Kung Lao But somehow someway I keep coming up with more ways to earn them dollar bucks Monster trucks, crushing you fuckers Big wheeling, four by four Hauling a two by four, that's Jim Duggan Way to-OHHHH, waving the black flag, fuck it I break down them roaches as if they tree nuggets It smell shitty, don't it?It's just a repellent for all opponents And you can bet your whole city on it Pass the keys and the deeds, nigga we moving in 'em Switching the locks on your door, welcome your newest tenants [Interlude] You can bet I got better things to do than that You can bet I got better things [Verse 2: The Alchemist] Look what the kitty drug in- Side of his mouth, a dirty rat stuck in the city thuggin' Cable box at an angle to keep the shitty plug in Dickie suit with the pocket to keep the Griffey gloves in Up to bat, I swing and knock the meat up out your pumpkin It's expected for me to come more rugged than bum skin With the calluses, I'll smoke the paralysis Hold a mallah stick and bang my intention was malicious (Fuck her right in the pussy) That's what the challenge is Raw like GG Allen, is flier than fake suede New Balances Machine gun the label, they fail to pay up the balances Heavy caliber, still taking things out the ovens like Mary Calendar Professors compare me to Jerry Salinger Many habits from the Hills, like Lenny Kravitz Equalize the dope, throw the compressor on the lettuce baggage [Outro] You know, like, you press the lettuce, son, you know, like, the loud pack is too loud You gotta compress it, turn it down and shit Word
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Credits
- Writers
- The Alchemist
- Oh No