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• Artiste: JPEGMAFIA
• Titre: Cult Status (Bandcamp Version)
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One, two One, two Uh, one, two Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo This is cult status You dealin' with known attics American made choppas You beefin', we split ya cabbage Standin' next to the stars It's funny, 'cause you a asterisk When you break up with ya hoe, we gon' pin that bitch to the mattress Bitch niggas be thinkin' they jokes be hittin', they be straining I can't be seen with you worm niggas, y'all need training Born into money, got more money, then start complainin' Shoulda kept it online or end up in terminal condition Bitch niggas be thinking they jokes is hurting me Play with me, bitch, you play yo'self We press you, it's a courtesy Play with mе, he need surgery Court room gave him thе third degree Burner pistols and lawyer fees Burn him, he broke the loyalty Backshots, gripping ass She Usain when I go too deep This butane I feel when I breathe It goes, it goes, it goes, that bitch head go off like guillotine These bitches be obsessive with my Amex like they Central Cee Top five, not two or three Ayy, Peg in his new bag, tell me who bad Before we gettin' wavy, let's start with somethin' for the durags Ain't seen a barbershop in years, where Cube at? And if I gotta push it to the edge, you gettin' lined up with a new tag, bitch They send shots then act surprised when they get grazed Run to the internet, they'll believe you, you get glazed I seen your splits, bitch, shit talk don't pay Unless you was good enough to shit talk your way to Ye The rush from proving y'all wrong, nothing above it Looked at my family tree and saw sleep was my favorite cousin My rewards, they don't come from awards, niggas is bored My percentage over the number like QWERTY keyboards Now, how the fuck is niggas talkin' 'bout my fits ain't clean? Pray to the almighty Sosa and to DJ Scream Now look, it’s critical, I flip the sample like Bobby Digital Money over bitches, 'cause bitches, they come in intervals This is cult status You dealin' with known attics American made choppas You beefin', we split ya cabbage Standin' next to the stars It's funny, 'cause you a asterisk When you break up with ya hoe, we gon' pin that bitch to the mattress Bitch niggas be thinkin' they jokes be hittin', they be straining I can't be seen with you worm niggas, y'all need training Born into money, got more money, then start complainin' Shoulda kept it online or end up in terminal condition Since Pitchfork fell off, the yuppies been goin' through it Gossipin' like some bitches and playin' catch up in music Rappin' like backpackers, don't sell no more, it's confusing The crack be hittin' like Whitney, I'm pistol-packing in Houston She caught me jerk eating at that Jamaican spot Can't wait to pop, I park a big body up in ya vacant lot Best production, you don't say me? I tell a hater "Stop" But when you El Presidente niggas debate a lot Uh, we on the road, we all the time, we outta line wit it I keep the switch up on the pistol for the crime business Don't give a fuck about no time difference, for real Uh, potato on the barrel, make 'em eat the hash wit it Brought in the dame to Roc-A-Fella, but I dashed with it Pray to the Mafia, we tax different, for real