Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire, Danny Brown - Killah Tofu lyrics
Danny Brown [Daniel Dewan Sewell] Detroit, Michigan, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire, Danny Brown - Killah Tofu lyrics]
Kush in the Swisher got a nigga lightheaded
Heart beating fast
Somebody call the paramedics
My credit licking guts so
Everything is copacetic
Your poems is polyester and
Your stanzas synthetic
So give me my credit, I got my own lettuce
These niggas want handouts
At these record labels beggin'
I walk up in your studio
Say "Fuck the atmosphere
Your beat's wack and your
Engineer have no ear"
Your fucking up the church's money
My rhymes like verse Sunday
So get the wine out and
Let's count this money nigga cHECK!
The variation of my patterns is Saturn
Through rhythmic conversation I tell
You niggas what matters
The ceremony master, your style is a bastard
Turn niggas Casper
Put your jersey in the rafters
Fuck a job, I can't pass the drug test
So much stuff in my system, pissin'
I could make the cup melt
Fuck death, what comes with success?
A bunch of scumbag motherfuckers and
Some bitches with cum breath
Rap pussies: they don't breathe, they queef
That's word, the opus mag
Them fringe benefit's will have a
Nigga on the edge
Paranoid, paranoid, everybody's out to get me
Could work, you pay half and grow old
Or I could be Biggie
Biggie, pump your brakes like Mieneke
Holland bitches sucking my dick while I sip
Heineken the Adderall is like a star
On Mario: multicolored glow
I could gong the gongshow boss like
Niggas perpetrate that they ain't this
Just bow down to a nigga and kiss my fist
I gives a fuck like a glory hole
Been ill since I wrote my first rhyme
In '99 with the NORE flow
Same thoughts as back then
I'm just weaker now
The more I think about my past
I push it deeper down
Inhale, exhale, life is like Braille
It ain't about what you can see
It's more about what you can feel
Motherfucker
Heart beating fast
Somebody call the paramedics
My credit licking guts so
Everything is copacetic
Your poems is polyester and
Your stanzas synthetic
So give me my credit, I got my own lettuce
These niggas want handouts
At these record labels beggin'
I walk up in your studio
Say "Fuck the atmosphere
Your beat's wack and your
Engineer have no ear"
Your fucking up the church's money
My rhymes like verse Sunday
So get the wine out and
Let's count this money nigga cHECK!
The variation of my patterns is Saturn
Through rhythmic conversation I tell
You niggas what matters
The ceremony master, your style is a bastard
Turn niggas Casper
Put your jersey in the rafters
Fuck a job, I can't pass the drug test
So much stuff in my system, pissin'
I could make the cup melt
Fuck death, what comes with success?
A bunch of scumbag motherfuckers and
Some bitches with cum breath
Rap pussies: they don't breathe, they queef
That's word, the opus mag
Them fringe benefit's will have a
Nigga on the edge
Paranoid, paranoid, everybody's out to get me
Could work, you pay half and grow old
Or I could be Biggie
Biggie, pump your brakes like Mieneke
Holland bitches sucking my dick while I sip
Heineken the Adderall is like a star
On Mario: multicolored glow
I could gong the gongshow boss like
Niggas perpetrate that they ain't this
Just bow down to a nigga and kiss my fist
I gives a fuck like a glory hole
Been ill since I wrote my first rhyme
In '99 with the NORE flow
Same thoughts as back then
I'm just weaker now
The more I think about my past
I push it deeper down
Inhale, exhale, life is like Braille
It ain't about what you can see
It's more about what you can feel
Motherfucker