Mac Miller, Hodgy - Bob's Dementia lyrics

Bob's dementia chapter one
Now here lies a great man
A man of the people
A man of the people, people (yeah,  oh)

Yeah, here he comes
It's the highly unprofessional
Hyper sexual, intellectual
Fried my brain, now I've become a vegetable
Travel with a gang of weird
Lookin' extraterrestrials  (Mi-mi-mi-mi)
They left me on their ship and
Made their bitches call me "General"
The dick quake could make a bitch
Shake like she got Parkinson's
You out there politickin'
I'm studyin' Darwinism (God)
I keep some bars and hit
'em like a hard collision (Bang)
Don't fuck around it's murder
In this art exhibit
And I got the whole game on
Paralyzed 'cause my volume on amplified
It's slow as a biracial bitch that's
Waitin' on her hair to dry
(I don't wanna go yet)
Are you prepared to die?
Burnin' this Ameri-fry
Where people that protect you are the
Ones that have you terrified
I only act this way 'cause my soul so broken
I'm the illest that you know
You a low dose Motrin
Laryngitis, hepatitis, the AIDS virus
I guess that's what you get from bein'
'round a bunch of rat vaginas and you
(And you) , you pussy I wouldn't fuck with
A drunk dick the day I came back from being
Hostage to the Russian mob
Missin' a finger and see my brother shot
(Pa pa pa pa pa pa pa)
I'm comin' for your neck
So hide your head inside your mother's box
(Motherfucker)
It still ain't cliche to say, "Fuck the cops"
(No) let's try it ("Fuck the cops")
'Cause, I just smoked a bunch of rocks
And walked around in just my socks
And made myself a birthday cake
With caramel and butterscotch

Tasty, tasty, that shit is tasty
This shit is tasty nigga, smoke

We servin' faster than the Chinese
This life carries a price
Cheaper than clown feet
Like prostitutes with hoops
And combined weaves who hates herself inside
So she sellin' her punani by umami
(ooh mind me?)
It's like my soul's inside the bowl
I hold it close
'cause I don't know when it's my time to go
I'm blindin' fold
I hear my son laughing and time is froze
And he knows it, lookin' at me like "That's
My pops, " and I'm his goal, nigga
Motherfucker, I hit pockets, pickpockets
I'll beat you for your keys, bubblegum
And your bitch wallet
To his product, I'm a prodigy of a dead nigga
No name droppin'
Scribin' when nobody was dead meat
When they came flockin'
Brain doctorin', where I left my hard dates
Small shakes and small dates
The ones I only call late in parlay
You know what the dark say, grab
A bitch by the paw, ayy
Her name's Autumn
She happens to be fallin' on the wrong day

Nigga, tasty (Tasty) , tasty
Tasty, that shit is tasty that shit is tasty
Tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty