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mellowhigh - larry fisherman lyrics
[hodgy beats]
f-ckin’ trippin’
i’m f-ckin’ trippin’
yep, yep
aye, can you dim the lights?
smoke!
[hodgy beats]
[verse 1]
sippin’ beer and whiskey getting frisky hopscotch
words mistaken this place escapin’ my tongue like pop rocks
went to a bar alone, in my lap the glocks c-cked
looking for a hot bop with a boyfriend that c-ck blocks (f-ggot)
no service in this b-tch, good thing i’m near a hot spot
time is money, clocks flock, like a cherry i’m on top (hahaha)
you askin’ me rhetoricals, knowing where all my morals go
a stampede b-tch you plant the seed, let the florals grow
she give me oral throat, good behavior, being cordial
time is money hun, its twentys back into my portal
other words disturb and hurt me absurdly but i’m immortal
thuggish, ruggish, smoke blunts till sluggish, i’m f-ckin’ durable
adorable, the way these samples flip, thanks to fishy man
he don’t give us spam, we the a kitchen clan
river sand, in my bibs, i’m itchy man, finna’ hit amoeba
and spent sixtey on lionel richie (yep!)
we all gon’ die, i might just bring my baby mama with me (yep)
[domo genesis]
[verse 2]
see, p-ssy n-gga, what’s your life like? (huh?)
‘cause mine’s hype, eyes fixed on the limelight
should’ve signed twice, wrecked five mics (b-tch)
finna eat like an orgy scene with five dyk-s
weed flight, puffin’, have to ask “dog, i’m alive, right?”
a live wire, spit a virus out like limewire
break it down so i can climb higher
in his prime, watch him supply fire
get a grip, i’m going nuts like money mike, supply pliers
ridin’ high up in the pied piper
n-gga, look at how i’m p-ssin’ on ‘em
mac throw the alley, i blake griffin on ’em
wolf gang, dysfunctional family, eddie griffin on ’em
“high” hats, moving sh-t, even got diddy on ’em
b-tch, i’m a monster
beat it, never leak it, my seed, i skeet in the contra
set cause i bet i wouldn’t play a decent father
they’ll never be a another me, bring seats to my imposters
so haters back that -ss up like juvenile
get her suboo while ’bout to do this sh-t rasputin style
n-ggas didn’t trip, gave room and i’m a nuisance now
what’s beef? i’ll bring a meat cleaver to you stupid cows
hot headed, need some heat-seakers to shoot him down
inglewood n-gga, just a product of what he grew around
it’s young me, dom’s gettin’ what he f-ckin’ needs
forever blessed, like bad allergies, you just a f-ckin’ sneeze
my dreams floated in the wind and grabbed some f-ckin’ breeze
the cr-p i spit disgusting, so these ratchets on they f-ckin’ knees
you n-ggas save the bullsh-t, i’m a matador
i’m gettin’ swiss cheese overseas by the matterh-rn
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