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SIKE! (GodDamnChan Remix)
by
Astronautalis
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Lyrics
I've been on some burn it down, leave this town, never look back sh*t Passin' out on your couch, sneaking out the back tip Ripping credit cards out your mail box, snatch it Charge it to the game playboy, it's practice Practice, man When you come in the arena, and you see me play, you see me play don't you? You see me give everything I got, right? What we talkin' 'bout practice right now We talkin' 'bout prac-- Man look, I hear you I-- it's funny to me too It-- I mean it's strange-- it's strange to me too But we talkin' 'bout practice, man We not even talkin' 'bout the games -- the actual games They be on some got this, squat this, reroute the power grid Cops can't stop this, over our dead body, b*t*h Heat this, drop this, turn it up louder kid Put it down in our path, million ways around that sh*t We backstage, sterilizing tattoos with beer You cats stay paralysed from bad news and fear You're underage, they ain't f**kin' let you in here Fake ID, G, you'll buy us all a beer I'm sick of kids who sit and b*t*h about they can't get into sh*t Your 'woe is me' steez is just gettin' bit ridiculous; f**kin'-A you're underage, that means they just slap your wrist If not you're young and fit, "Yeah b*t*h, outrun the pigs!" Hah! And give them all trophies Hah, and some orange slices Yeah, y'all already know me One of the only that's really grindin' Lazy ma'f**kers wanna call it luck But real ma'f**kers know there ain't no such Thing 'cause I mean there ain't no free lunch You better fix your own plate or serve one to us Go and pray to your god and complain on Facebook Stay waitin' for your dad to come save the day, dork Voted for Obama and expected change? It's just one big party all giving the same gifts Sike! Like a P.O.S t-shirt! Yikes! It's only gonna be worse! Right? But this beat is kinda b-zerk Turn it up louder 'til my f**kin' teeth hurt! Sike! Like a P.O.S t-shirt! Yikes! It's only gonna be worse! Right? But this beat is kinda b-zerk Turn it up louder 'til my f**kin' teeth hurt! Anybody tell you that I miss practice If-- if-- if a coach said that I missed practice, and y'all hear it, then that's that I mean, I might've missed one practice this year Yeah girl, I own some gold teeth I's Southern, I was taught to hold heat Ain't no gangster, tell that true Rick Ross just a cop with some bad tattoos Hey, Florida baby, yeah my neck stay real red Why you make-believe pushin' that white sh*t? You dress up gangsters can play pretend I stay slangin' them white girls 'round my bed Young Steve McQueen spit that d**k game You tweet real bossy for a b*t*h with a tin chain I don't need no Maybach just to sharpen my pimp game Pull girls on my bike, ride my handlebars home, man Ooh, and put my word on that chief Rihanna gonna holla way I murdered that beat A condom like an umbrella, King Kong in the bed sheets Just holler at fella when you're done with that deadbeat Sike! Like a P.O.S t-shirt! Yikes! It's only gonna be worse! Right? But this beat is kinda b-zerk Turn it up louder 'til my f**kin' teeth hurt! See? I can write your dumb raps Pay me and go buy some hubcaps Fake G's still talking 'bout gun claps It ain't gonna happen, like A-Rod's comeback Talent is cheap, money's all made up Gallons of Beam and the speakers stay bassed up f**k it, I got nothing left to say, son Y'all Get Cryphy, thank you Based God Sike!
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