Originally Posted by
Earl Sweatshirt
Nig game, gangsta's and the dope game, makes me wonder if dad's to blame,
trust me I'm not trying to go for gold, or fame, but the shit you just wrote got me questioning if your sane,
I'm still wondering if you even used your brain, talking about ice yet I carry more white then labratory's with mice,
you make no sense like sweet and sour sauce on rice, comma splice, roll your dice, six six six, call me up once your ready for bricks,
I never said I was a rapper, but son, call me a poet, the girls I know that saw you before said you an ugly mother fucker, looking much like Farley Mowat
Get back to class, ass, I don't beef with white trash, last time I checked this isn't a dumpster, and you should dump your woman too,
I already humped her, so get off my high horse, you and your dirty spurs, before I cut off one of your fingers like the scene in Him and hers,
damn right the woman I bite got curves, and when I'm drunk on the highway, I swerve, off course, my rhymes are rough like Norse, vikings so get to hiking
realize your not to most people's liking, you got a shitty style like the search engine bing, the last fling you had was with a guy who was shy and you made him
lie when others asked if you two had a thing, must have been awkward when he sucked your ding dong, and ate right threw your mom's pink thong, go ahead and reply I'd love to see you prove me wrong
You shouldn't be so cocky.