Childish Gambino, Bun B - R.I.P. lyrics
Childish Gambino [Donald McKinley Glover Jr.] Edwards, CA, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Childish Gambino, Bun B - R.I.P. lyrics]
Oh, this is the idea
Where you're doing, like
One piece of artwork per track that's dope
Late ass nights come from long days
Doin' all the right things in the wrong ways
Doin' all the wrong shit
For the right reasons
Sprinklin' midnight game
Call it night seasoning
Haters get salty give 'em cholesterol
Trill OG
Mop up the floor with the best of y'all
Then dry that bitch off with
The rest of y'all and catch a flight to Rio
De Janero for la festival
Yeah, and that's word to fit a baldy
Ball hard like it's cement
Inside of my Spalding
And I'll break your face with a no look pass
Now back to your parking lot pimp
With yo little hook ass
I use harsh words cause these are hard times
And trill-ass people
Nowadays they're such a hard find
So, it's one eye open if I could peep ‘em
And one on the scope
So if they frontin' I can sleep 'em
Man, my flow is so parabolic
The energy'll blow you over
Even if you're brolic
Goddamn it, now that's one for the Googlers
That fell sleep on they desk and
Never step their noodle up
Takin' lames out never been new to us
The hardest part of this shit is
Figurin' which of you to bust
Then step your weight up like GNC
And RIP to Chris Luda reppin' CNC straight G
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same
Rest in peace to them niggas
Who was dead wrong
Toni Braxton to them niggas
That's a sad song
Cry a river Timberlake, the whole industry
Record the whole album in my
Living room in Italy
Niggas who wasn't feelin' me
Secretly want a handout
Keep your mouth shut
I can probably help your man out
Drop a new stack all lames get to steppin'
Drop a new track all blogs go to heaven
Kill the web
Man these niggas need they hit's up
Kiss her neck, add a dime to the tip cup
She is not "slut, " fuck a dude who says so
Just because she's fuckin' doesn't mean
She ain't a lady kill the whole stage
I never needed a mic check
Semen on my spacebar
Fuckin' tired of Skype sex
Runnin' with a new breed, me and Bun B
This Hip-Hop nation, that big country
Nigga, please,! We ain't stop for no one
Wu Tang Generator name, I'm a shōgun
Wu Tang Generator name, watch him smoke one
Talk a lot of shit
But none of them will approach him
Gambino got first position
The game is ballet
So graceful drive, he don't need a valet
So angel: fly as I wanna be
Mercy, somebody show these niggas
Can't hurt me woah
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same
Where you're doing, like
One piece of artwork per track that's dope
Late ass nights come from long days
Doin' all the right things in the wrong ways
Doin' all the wrong shit
For the right reasons
Sprinklin' midnight game
Call it night seasoning
Haters get salty give 'em cholesterol
Trill OG
Mop up the floor with the best of y'all
Then dry that bitch off with
The rest of y'all and catch a flight to Rio
De Janero for la festival
Yeah, and that's word to fit a baldy
Ball hard like it's cement
Inside of my Spalding
And I'll break your face with a no look pass
Now back to your parking lot pimp
With yo little hook ass
I use harsh words cause these are hard times
And trill-ass people
Nowadays they're such a hard find
So, it's one eye open if I could peep ‘em
And one on the scope
So if they frontin' I can sleep 'em
Man, my flow is so parabolic
The energy'll blow you over
Even if you're brolic
Goddamn it, now that's one for the Googlers
That fell sleep on they desk and
Never step their noodle up
Takin' lames out never been new to us
The hardest part of this shit is
Figurin' which of you to bust
Then step your weight up like GNC
And RIP to Chris Luda reppin' CNC straight G
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same
Rest in peace to them niggas
Who was dead wrong
Toni Braxton to them niggas
That's a sad song
Cry a river Timberlake, the whole industry
Record the whole album in my
Living room in Italy
Niggas who wasn't feelin' me
Secretly want a handout
Keep your mouth shut
I can probably help your man out
Drop a new stack all lames get to steppin'
Drop a new track all blogs go to heaven
Kill the web
Man these niggas need they hit's up
Kiss her neck, add a dime to the tip cup
She is not "slut, " fuck a dude who says so
Just because she's fuckin' doesn't mean
She ain't a lady kill the whole stage
I never needed a mic check
Semen on my spacebar
Fuckin' tired of Skype sex
Runnin' with a new breed, me and Bun B
This Hip-Hop nation, that big country
Nigga, please,! We ain't stop for no one
Wu Tang Generator name, I'm a shōgun
Wu Tang Generator name, watch him smoke one
Talk a lot of shit
But none of them will approach him
Gambino got first position
The game is ballet
So graceful drive, he don't need a valet
So angel: fly as I wanna be
Mercy, somebody show these niggas
Can't hurt me woah
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same
There's somethin' inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But, you're still the same