Mac Miller, Sean Price - Pet Sounds lyrics

I wrote this under the influence of narcotics
Yeah play them horns!
Young raspy god

Yeah, um why you fuckin' up my good mood?
The Bimmer used but it look new
Your raps dry as overcooked food
My shit is kaboom i took shrooms
Now I'm playin' dodgeball in a crooked room
So address me as your superior
Mind on delirium, ice-cold interior
Stirrin' up the chaos
I'm the cause of the confusion
Young, grown-ass nuisance with the
Strength of 22 men
Pukin' all over your brand new accoutrements
Lucrative, assassin them, shoot to miss
I turn my body into Eucharist
Nail me to a crucifix
If I'm gonna kill myself, then I'ma do it big
Scalin' Mount Vesuvius
We don't even know what bein' human is
And what's a man when he lose his wit's?
Useless as the news at six
Foolish, we nothin' but a bunch
Of rotten and stupid kids

I wanna
(I wanna) , I wanna punch you (Punch you
Punch you) i wanna
(I wanna) , wanna, I wa, I
Wanna punch you (Punch you, punch you)
I wanna
I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face
(Pow, bitch) hahaha (yeah) , yeah

You live inside a computer
In 2014, religion turn to rumor
Maneuver through the world in a Uber
Born to be a loser to the world
I'm just a tumor they'll remove
If I would've done my schoolwork
I could've been a Oklahoma Sooner with
A golden retriever I named Cooper
Work part-time at Bruegger's
Workin' on securin' me a future
The American dream
Big titty bitches guaranteed a
Spot on the team bust inside my pants
Leave a spot on my jeans clean it up
Why are pretty girls always mean to us?
I'm the Godzilla of mess
Leave my house forgettin' that I'm
Still in a dress
Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow
Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam, blam, blam
Gun sounds, gun sounds

I wanna
(I wanna) , I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna) , wanna, I wa
I wanna punch you (Punch you) i wanna
I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face
(Pow, bitch) hahaha (yeah) , yeah
I wanna
(I wanna) , I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna) , wanna, I wa
I wanna punch you (Punch you) i wanna
I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face
(Pow, bitch) hahaha (yeah)

I'm worldwide, but I smack clowns local
Gunshots, MOP background vocals
Fire in the hole of the
Designer of your clothes
On the up and up, you fuckin' up
Why you fuckin' with those?
Planet of the apes, the survival of the goons
I'm so dope
You could put the lighter on the spoon
I'm tightest with the tunes, need a
Verse and I write it, son
Master shit with no practice, bitch
Al Iverson fuck the king of New York
In my presence they all peasants
The king is all talk
Whoever holdin' the crown
Better pass that shit to me, P
I'm holdin' it down fuck if you the greatest
A lot of rappers got killed
Fuck around and be the latest
Your bars warm, my shit smokin'
I pitch Knicks at my pace, I'm Chris Copeland
Yeah

I wanna
(I wanna) , I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna) , wanna, I wa
I wanna punch you (Punch you) i wanna
I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face
(Pow, bitch) hahaha (yeah) , yeah
I wanna
(I wanna) , I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna) , wanna, I wa
I wanna punch you (Punch you) i wanna
I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face
(Pow, bitch) hahaha (yeah) , yeah