CAPA/TRACKLIST
Letra : STFU
(Boom!)
Shut the f**k up
Shut your mouth and shut up
1 Trait's back, so it's time to get the f**k up
(Boom!)
What's the f**k's up
'Bardi 'bout to come up
Baseball bat, yeah he gonna f**k my knees up
Where the tracks at?
Where's my money bro?
I got my axe back
I'm 'bout to kill you, yo
Chop, chop, chop down both your knees like some trees while you're screamin' "Lombardi, please!"
(-Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please
Lombardi please
-Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please
Where the tracks at?
Where's my money bro?
In the rocketship, but I'm not
But I'm not
Bu-Bu-But I'm not
But I'm not...)
Write the songs, how hard could it be?
Write the music, this sh*t ain't easy
Write the songs
I gotta write the songs
Can't think of sh*t, I dunno how to write
I used this joke on the last album, right?
I'm no Shakespeare, no Vonnegut
I don't even know what a sonnet is
Welcome to the slaughterhouse
You can't even hide at your daughter's house
You signed the contract with your blood
They suck the rest if you give 'em a dud
If you don't make him the f**kin' stacks
With sufficient raps, with ten platinum tracks
He's gonna come to your house with a baseball bat
And break both of your motherf**kin' legs in half
So you praise the Lord to forgive your sins
So you praise the Lord to forgive your sins...
(Sick guitar solo)
(Come on!)
(One two three, motherf**ker)
Shut the f**k up
Shut your mouth and shut up
1 Trait's back, so it's time to get the f**k up
(Boom!)
What's the f**k's up
'Bardi 'bout to come up
Baseball bat, yeah he gonna f**k my knees up
Where the tracks at?
Where's my money bro?
I got my axe back
I'm 'bout to kill you, yo
Chop, chop, chop down both your knees like some trees while you're screamin' "Lombardi, please!"
(-Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please
Lombardi please
-Bardi please, ba-ba-bardi please
Where the tracks at?
Where's my money bro?
In the rocketship, but I'm not
But I'm not
Bu-Bu-But I'm not
But I'm not...)
Write the songs, how hard could it be?
Write the music, this sh*t ain't easy
Write the songs
I gotta write the songs
Can't think of sh*t, I dunno how to write
I used this joke on the last album, right?
I'm no Shakespeare, no Vonnegut
I don't even know what a sonnet is
Welcome to the slaughterhouse
You can't even hide at your daughter's house
You signed the contract with your blood
They suck the rest if you give 'em a dud
If you don't make him the f**kin' stacks
With sufficient raps, with ten platinum tracks
He's gonna come to your house with a baseball bat
And break both of your motherf**kin' legs in half
So you praise the Lord to forgive your sins
So you praise the Lord to forgive your sins...
(Sick guitar solo)
(Come on!)
(One two three, motherf**ker)
