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Buddy
Drapht Bitter Belief Graphic Mortar Mr. Grieves Optamus
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Old dog, new tricks
You can call me Volley
Don't call me Macaulay Culkin
I never fall in the gutter
I'm balling, striking another young cub
Singing Hakuna Matata
Thinking he's king
You must be drinking the gin
The shit you spit is depressing
You stepped in the gym
No legs, no legs
Listen, either we'll check out around
That fucking big fat head of yours
Big black beard looking like a big bowl sack
Got these kids upset
I'm not divorced, I got these kids that scared
I'm moving in, make some room for your stepdad
I'm here, I am fear
Timothy Leary eating all the mushrooms in your fridge
Dropping bars like acid, always on some psychedelic shit
Hey son, don't touch my things, ain't done with that
I'm done rapping, I bought your lunches
But can you stomach that after eating
All my fucking bread and all my cheese?
Can't come to me to learn about the birds and bees
Bro, I ain't your dad
I like your mum though
Reporting to you live from the scene of the crime
It's ironic I can see the blind leading the blind
Iconic with the rhymes that I leave on the lines
And I can skyrocket so I never needed to climb
And we the dream team
Yeah, I use the cloth we were cut from
To keep the blade of my guillotine clean
I think it's funny you think the scene is behind you
Someone should remind you that you're in front of a green screen
Rebellious menaces like Dennis is
Public enemy number one and your nemesis
And it is what I said it is
I just need a beverage and a couple sedatives
Hoping I can take away the stress
I smoke away the pain
I'm sick of slowing down so I overtake your lane
'Cause all I ever hear is people overplay your name
And you can try to sell them evil
We all know it ain't the same, buddy
We ain't the same, buddy
We ain't the same
I'm sorry it's a West Coast thing, buddy
We ain't the same, buddy
We ain't the same
Yeah, I'm sorry I forget your name, buddy
Don't you know I'm loco, son?
Won't break up my bands like Yoko done
I made a milli off the street back in '00, cunt
See I killed it from the weed and the coco runs
Money when it's showtime
Money when the grow's ripe
Money from the blow lines
Running with that snow white
Oh my, in '09 the phone wired
The mobile bugged, locked up with no trial
Came out, the name's out from rhyme and type
Killed rap, kicked back, retired life
But they all want me back like I'm Iron Mike
I acquired a finer taste for that higher life
Beyond Ironside way that I run it
Got a safe full of hundreds, better pay me my money
Clout chasers, I don't think the same as them
I just push pounds out like English ATMs
Yeah, Drafty asked me to put in work to hurt ya
So every bar that I wrote started with murder
Smirk while I serve ya
Bile with a crooked-ass smile like the hook knife of a Gurkha
Carry on like a Sherpa
Keep a hidden purpose like hot birds rocking a burka
For better or worser
I nerd out on a verse and have my revenge like Booger and Wormser
There's no terms for surrender
This is that black bag snatch and grab, you're getting rendered
A Turkish prison's where they send ya
Midnight run, I have come, last of the airbenders
The last pretenders got slaughtered
The last of the infiltrators got deported
The next lane gets drawn and quartered
All for a pain, talk of a flame, remember the name, mortar
We ain't the same, buddy
We ain't the same
I'm sorry it's a West Coast thing, buddy
We ain't the same, buddy
We ain't the same
Yeah, I'm sorry I forget your name, buddy
From the last lines of rope
Build a lifetime of quotes
Speak from the heart, stay sharp, knife to the throat
Keep quiet, don't rock the boat
It's not what you know, it's who sells, who buy it
Supplied with lies, don't demand truth
Absence of evidence, not evidence of proof
Keep quiet, hush not a word
People protest, police crush 'em on the curb
No questions asked, no answers given
Shine bright when we write but you're left in the dark
Keep quiet, you can hear a pin drop
Been hot since we stepped inside of Hyde Park
SBX, team on a rush
And rep the Dragon Crew, Elon Musk
Keep quiet, countdown for launch
Amplify our bars, stars of the sport
I ain't one of these lads to blame it on the mumble rap
But I just wonder where my motherfucking hunger's at
You know the hunger for the fun like a younger cat
Sometimes I wish I could bring fucking Hunter back
You know we're coming back to seal a squad
Standing on the wingspan of the Silla swamp
Better believe I be creeping 'til the feeling's gone
The realism, you feel the vision like graphic killing a song
Second generation, we're the sons and daughters
West Oz hip-hop's what I font support
Call me Hunter S. Thompson when it comes to authors
Got the fear and the loathing like it's hunts and mortars
When it comes to supporters, we're still down for the count
Put the haters underwater when we're drowning 'em out
Feel the draft when they're falling, when they bounce on the ground
Fucking SBX, I hope you're sounding it out