Correction Paroles My Tombstone par Flying Lotus

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Paroles

(Verse One)
Y'all ain't ready for this one
Hit with the fist but I'm rippin' this sh*t like Kemper with his mum
I'm gettin paper, you b*t*hes get none
I get paper for hittin this blunt, you get some nonexistent
Probably the problem is I'm not existin'
Off a list of medication with a head that's baked and
Got a lotta sh*t loose in my head, it's crazed
I'm dead and weight, I guess that you could say that I've had better days
But if you wanna talk about a devil, take your breathe away
My head's impatient, every single screw is on the edge of placement
Seven days in registration, hatin' every second, wait I'm
On the edge of death and wakin' up at night to shed the snakeskin
Different place and different time, and different night to end the dayshift
Will my patience be awarded, will it fade away and ache and if I try to find a way to take a blade to end the pain will it have meant a f**kin message?
Will it throw it all away, and will it make it all the same or will it break all the terrain and make the motherf**kers want to read engravings on my grave?

(Hook)
Put it on my tombstone, and put it on my face
Put it on my will, will you tell it at the place
Where I live, where I die, tell 'em that I ain't afraid
Motherf**ker
Put a lot of effort in this rap sh*t
You minus breathin' equals nothing, that's subtraction
Get more cash than a motherf**kin catfish who asks for your address then shows up with magnums

(Verse Two)
Me and my crew smoked 8 gs
Turned around First Ave
Got another motherf**kin' daydream
Everybody ready all the way, seems
For what? I don't know but we still waiting
Not a lot it possible, improbable the thing seems
High as the fly with the ganja at they teeth
They think it's a game, but they ain't in the story mode
These stupid motherf**kers still in the tutorial
White little prick with the glasses on his face, still break into cars, was a reverse-oreo
Lots a bad habits in 'em, lots a bad faggots with em
Lots a ash scattered on his desk with that 'baccy scent
My only pride in life was that I was a f**kin accident
My passion was irrational, the class would laugh when passed with them
They act like I was ass when I was passable, still ass a bit
Ill as a kid, and now I'm getting older so that's half as sick, yeah

(Hook)
Put all that sh*t on my grave
Put it on my tombstone, and put it on my face
Put it on my will, will you tell it at the place
Where I live, where I die
Tell 'em that I ain't afraid, motherf**ker
Put a lot of effort in this rap sh*t
You minus breathin' equals nothin, that's some math sh*t
Get more cash than a motherf**kin black chick who blows on the corner for more than a half cent

(Outro)
Write a paragraph on my motherf**kin' casket
Tell 'em where I'm at, tell 'em that I want a classic
Imagine a platter with trophies on top but I'm not cause it makes me a motherf**kin' savage

Put that sh*t on my tombstone and my motherf**kin casket

clip

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