Slaine, Termanology, XL - The Problem lyrics

I'm one of the best there is
Believe it or not i'm saying
I ain't playing either
 I'm one of the best there ever was
So now I gotta prove it, now
I gotta prove it, right? Here it is then

You hate me, why? You wanna be like me
You ain't got the attitude to
Walk in these Nikes do the wrong thing
Don't be calling me Spike Lee
I got a million dollar, homie
Got a free white tee just drank a Henny
Pusher Cadi' Frank Salemme king of the town
Ain't leaving 'til the bank is empty
Most my job's to be hated
With the thankless envy
Bitches I fuck are groupies, nah
They ain't just friendly
Lawyers think I'm a scumbag
They can't defend me music is loud


My motherfucking amps are bending
I'm so goddamn famous for my rants offending
My expensive taste in pedico
And expansive spending
Fuck that NA, take a fucking pill, quitter
Shove your fingers in your throat
You'll never be a ill spitter
My words are so murderous
Absurd as the verbalist is
Someone stop me, I'm hurting these kids

Don't put your hands in the sky
Put your hands in your pockets
And pull your money out
Pay for my jams when I rock this
I ain't here to tell you 'bout
The world when it's stopping
I'm just looking for a bitch's mouth
To put my cock in
Maybe I'm dirty, baby, maybe I'm crazy, whore
Maybe I'm out my mind
What you think they paid me for?
I'm trynna get off of
This Earth that's revolving
Chip on my shoulder
So what you think? I got a problem?

Now what's the truth? Who's to blame?
Let me cut him loose want the proof? He's a
Hole in your Bubblegoose
Troubled youth full of pain
And ready to shoot
I got the names on a list
Starting singing the blues
Spit the flame if I'm deranged
With nothing to lose
Then let it rain with razor blades
And blood in your boots
You wanna push the limit? Bitch
I ain't the one
You'll be another dead jackass like Ryan Dunn
No high-speed crash, shit, no big fire
Just two little sticks at
Length of piano wire
You can hate the man and
You can hate the name
And get your ass fucked up like
A hooker in an airplane
My dick's like the world, everybody's on it
Everyone except your fake icon
Ain't that ironic?
Marginal success with the submarginal rep
But, I'm paid for my verses
While you rapping for respect

Don't put your hands in the sky
Put your hands in your pockets
And pull your money out
Pay for my jams when I rock this
I ain't here to tell you 'bout
The world when it's stopping
I'm just looking for a bitch's mouth
To put my cock in
Maybe I'm dirty, baby, maybe I'm crazy, whore
Maybe I'm out my mind
What you think they paid me for?
I'm trynna get off of
This Earth that's revolving
Chip on my shoulder
So what you think? I got a problem?

Ayo, my blunts fat like Kim Kardashian's ass
Put a red dot on you like the Japanese flag
Fuck getting married
That'll leave you happily sad
And I laugh at these fags
Trynna rap with each fad, like-
Switching my style, that'll be rad
Pants tighter than the white
Michael Jackson in Bad
Yeah, I'm big shit like a laxative tab
Leave you in the trunk smelly
Like a African cav
I son so many rappers, I'm a passionate dad
Flamethrower for a pen, gasoline, no pad
Coat bags, toe tags, et cetera, et cetera
Promoted through the projects
The present and the peddlers
This metal cup of Ketel One
Make you a skeleton
Get a gun, shoot yourself
Do it just to prove yourself
And yeah I hang out with Slaine from The Town
But, I'm still up in the hood
Moving 'cane by the pound

Don't put your hands in the sky
Put your hands in your pockets
And pull your money out
Pay for my jams when I rock this
I ain't here to tell you 'bout
The world when it's stopping
I'm just looking for a bitch's mouth
To put my cock in
Maybe I'm dirty, baby, maybe I'm crazy, whore
Maybe I'm out my mind
What you think they paid me for?
I'm trynna get off of
This Earth that's revolving
Chip on my shoulder
So what you think? I got a problem?