Super Smash Bros

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Sir Michael Rocks] Twist up a [?] I get deeper in debt My rap page make niggas throw they [reefer?] at us Thirty clip longer than Jaden Smith's Christmas list And these niggas so dumb they think this the diss Rap at the top now in music and fashion Soon as we hit the big screen, now y'all start tweaking? Y'all out here faking pussy and beating girls up I thought you niggas was pissed, don't make me get the receipt I'm good with all them girls that you tried to fuck And I could run 'em down a list, nigga line 'em up You ain't go to your own show and get your jewels took See who's real, who's fake, and who's crooks? Wait, I need a break, I'm confused I watched your last video, I hate how you move You so weird, always getting in a fight, getting locked up You probably paid fifty for a gram from a rasta It was funny for a second now y'all take yourselves serious Same ass mixtapes with all these fucking features And them weak ass beats a nigga made from a preset Don't pay none of your friends so they still selling weed packs Stealin' swag from [?] IG designers Now you think you Riccardo Tisci you gotta teach me (Wow) I gotta learn that trick (Wow) Usher let it burn lil' bitch This the smile Scar had when he smoked Mufasa This the gun Arenas had stuffed up in his locker Full clip, and it spit for all you little [chits?] And you old ass rappers with them old ass hits, bitch [Interlude: Ebro] Yeah fam The Cool Kids is back The Cool Kids is back, we're focused You almost got us with the crack and the gangs You almost got us The Cool Kids is here Y'all threw everything at us And we ain't fold up yet, we still here And y'all wanna Kumbaya, we'll Kumbaya in a minute Hang on, we got things we gotta fix We'll get the drums going so y'all can dance again, don't worry [Sir Michael Rocks] You niggas so sweat, got singing niggas they can rip You R&B niggas better sing about a bitch Leave that real rap shit to the pros Fuck all them girls up and leave you niggas exposed, you pillow chat Let your record label blew in your butt to get a mantle What else you niggas do for the clout? I can't imagine I rap better, look better, dress better, flex better, trendsetter And all of the OGs respect me [Verse 2: Chuck Inglish] While y'all bullshiting on the grill I don't fuck around Donny, it's too real I knew the deal when I stepped in, reppin' Back when I had the color stitchin' on my belly On a corner with a cracked pepper turkey from the deli [?] celly, they want it I can sell it Any number other than my price, I can't accept it Unless you finna add another zero to the digits On the track running laps in my necklace I'm throwing bows like a slab down in Texas I'm really throwing bows with my hands if you offended And if you heard me say I beat your ass you know I meant it So you better watch your mouth Listen, I'm not finna send no beats out My time cost a brick, don't tick me off You niggas rapping out of pocket and that shit sound lost Now you singing on it and that shit sound worse You niggas suck