General Shit Talk

Lyrics

[Intro: Chris Clarke] Ayo, Derek. hey, cuz. You got 5 seconds to come out the crib, man, or I'm gonna destroy your shit. A lot of motherfuckers on YouTube don't think you can track their I.P. address. I told you I would come to the crib, I told you I would find it [Verse 1: Wax] Old-school cat, Saber-tooth Tiger Soul-food rap, hater-proof fire Say I ain't hot, you a downright liar Looking for your girl, I be found right by her Crowned like sire, sound like a messiah Clowns in denial, frowns'll go viral You about to be a meme, I'm undoubtedly supreme Fuck around and leave your team suicidal I don't know what the hook gon' be All I know is your ass is what my foot gon' see I'm in the lab cooking all the time, no sleep Put your rap book into the compost heap Where it belongs, along with your terrible songs You an embarrassment, apparently, your parents went wrong They really should've been more pro-choice I talk shit 'cause I like my own voice (Yo, let me hear that back) [Chorus: Wax] Talkin' shit Talki-talkin' shit Talkin' shit Ta-talkin' talkin' shit [Verse 2: Nocando] Yo, ayo You talking shit, hocking spit Tryin' to stop the kid won't work like Stephen Hawking's dick That's a cold challenge, you gon' need an ice bucket I'm dumped like that powdery uncontrolled white substance I'm here forever like stretch marks on your wife's stomach Life's a bitch, I'm like, "fuck it!" Man, I don't even need to pull the condom out Use the baby boy, I'm getting reins up in your mama house Playing Xbox with a whiskey buzz and cotton mouth Uploading family photos; your daddy's gone, I cropped him out What you talking 'bout, man, you mad? What's it to you? I'ma upgrade like Sriracha in a cup of noodles The best rapping with west African voodoo I see pics of your crew when I type "bitch niggas" in Google That's a cheap shot man, go figure that I'm frugal The God of Hellfyre: Nocando! [Chorus: Wax] Talkin' shit Talki-talkin' shit (bla, bla-bla-bla) Talkin' shit Ta-talkin' talkin' shit (bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla) Talkin' shit Talki-talkin' shit (bla, bla-bla-bla) Talkin' shit Ta-talkin' talkin' shit (bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla) Talkin' shit Talki-talkin' shit (bla, bla-bla-bla) Talkin' shit Ta-talkin' talkin' shit (bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla) Talkin' shit Talkin' shit Talkin' (The number you have reached is not in service right now Please hang up as I put my foot directly in yo' ass) [Verse 3: Intuition] Yo, it would be like I won the lotto if I had a dollar for every Instagram Follower the last broad that swallow my load had I got it poppin', push the product, the squad up, and it all Started with retarded thoughts I jot in my notepad Trick the Civic with the suicide doors Inflict middle digits towards you inside yours Crocodile Dundee Bowie knife sword Used for cuttin' off losers when they ruin my chords Ah, I'm off a moonrock, player Feeling like I'm 'bout to do the moonwalk later Girlies swoon dudes, pull their tube socks way up That California Love turned to 2Pac pay stubs 'Til we too turnt Fucking with your girl 'til the coochie juice squirt Twist and turn like a Rubik's Cube work Then pull out and wipe the booty with a moody blue shirt, yeah [Verse 4: Chris Clarke] Ay, this way, fuck what Swiss say or what yo' bitch say Everything we doin' gets played around her way How many mermaids can I knock per day? The homeboy served dank from West L.A. to Burbank While you run with dudes that speak higher the one time Your skin ain't thick, you niggas fry in the sunshine Sweatin' every little internet troll You quit your job so you can stay home and get swole You fantasize that you gon' make cats apologize But every time you try to rhyme, you get sodomized You need to upgrade, redecorate, and modernize The shit don't hit or won't fit, so what you gon' get You gon' get a whole bunch of that bullshit It's what you give, you get it how you live Acting like you got bars that we gon' blink at Think that, you bighead nigga, I'ma slink that [Outro: Chris Clarke, Krysta Youngs] A lot of people online, they think I'm on that uh, Mario Lopez Saved by the Bell shit. They think I'm like one of these Slater Shemar Moore type mothafuckas. I'm not. I got a felony already, this ain't shit. This ain't nothin' Oh my god! Mothafucka, come outside!