Upchurch - Skillshot lyrics

A good percentage of these
Fuckin' these rappers, you know they call
Themselves rappers or whatever
Man,  how does that make
Say you're a rapper, right
You know what I'm sayin'
Say you're a rapper
A mumble rapper or whatever
You've been in the game for a good 10 years
Whatever whatever
And then some dude comes in that is naturally
A country artist and bosses you up

Put your seatbelt on
You're gonna need it in a minute
I ain't scared to die
I laugh at rappers tryna ride with me
I'ma make you fall off 'cause
I pop mad wheelies
You just suck while I'm suckin' on
Mad titties on bad bitches
Yeah, straight from the countryside
Bum a cig' then I ask can
I bum a fuckin' ride
Now it's fuck a record label
Lamborghini lookin' fresh
Army green paint, mud caked on the headrest
I'm the rooster, no need for career boosters
I be blowin' up
The rest are professional skin-fluters
Got a degree in winnin' so I'm
Unable to be a loser
Hip-hop is my drug, bitch
And I'm an err'day user
Woo, Ric Flair with them nose hairs
And enough coke to kill
A hibernatin' grizzly bear sleepin' on me
So it's only fair I jump up in your nightmare
Like Freddy Krueger
Ain't worked in ten years
I'm in their head now
All they see is a guy in a snow plow
That's me drivin', who the fuck's gold now?
I made the south have a north pole, pal
I can get so dark the sun will
Be scared to pop pop out
Discredited for the past three years
I know a lot of motherfuckers
That owe me beers
And you're gonna give it to me
I ain't even sayin' cheers
I ain't even sayin' thanks
I ain't even takin' one drink
I'll dump it on the ground and
Tell the bartender you bought it
And scissor kick you in
Your non-singin' esophagus
And then invite you to a
Hick-hop party around 6
At the corner of Second Avenue
And suck a dick if you still sleepin' on me
Won't you grab a tit
Just make sure it ain't a
Chick tryna boost her income, kid
Don't fuckin' fire at me unless
You wanna get cremated
For makin' me masturbate while you
Hang with your ex, baby
Les be honest, I'm still a top doggy doggin'
And I'm hungry and I'm hardly
Tired of harsh walkin' you ain't got a song
That's independently chart-toppin'
You couldn't be a shockin' career if
It had a fuckin' dog collar
Hope you like your number 1 hit song
I had to buy a leash and pretty
Much fuckin' walk you to it
You little bi - I mean female Labradoodle
My raps are Mona Lisa
Yours are like half a doodle
I'm rappin' for the purse
Like I bagged a poodle
Country rap, I'ma be the last to do it
I killed five careers with
Only words and math we can't chop it up but
Can you dodge this axe?
I'ma make you a past rap artifact
My cards are secretly razor blades
When they look like blackjacks
Ain't no dodgin' me
Not even with a Scat Pack
That GT got an engine to wreck
Anybody on the last lap
Whoops, it was an accidental love tap
I was watchin' this vid' of a
Guy and he was real mad
You could tell he loved her
But she played him, it was real sad
Now my attitude is to wrap heads in Glad bags
"I can not believe you" ("What the fuck?")
Yeah, what the fuck?
Now I'm colder than the songs I wrote
And I'm comin' for you if you got a throat
Who look down on me like
I'm shit or somethin'?
Fuck the CMA's, fuck the CMT's
Fuck the VH1 and both MTV's
"You're a broken record", at least I'm gold
When these rappers diss me it
Becomes their biggest songs
It's a shotgun shame, it's been half a decade
They got two dweebs still havin'
Me make their short change
And I ain't even seen a short change
You still got ass bars and a dork name
You're a Woody doll that ate too much cake
Oh wait, a cartoon, a hundred percent fake
Lookin' Pixar, gettin' picked apart
Like a demolition derby and only
One little Smart Car
I like square body Chevy's
Nah, you like ballsacks and daddies
And that's why you and Chris tickle
Each other on a futon
In your faggot Snapchat stream
I give an evil grin
You think that you're real men
Real men don't bitch like a diva on Instagram
Any hard worker really can come see this shit
Your last video was a knockoff of Scarface
Bitch (Haha)
Can you even start a chainsaw?
'Cause Lord knows you ain't got any bar oil
Hick-hop party? More like
Flipped over barstool
With you and Hosier sittin' on it like "Dude
This is cool"
Beavis you can't butt heads with me
Shane's last video was only sittin' on three
And on my way home I'll quadruple your stats
'Cause your square body Chevy
Be sittin' on flats
With your boy in the back
Screamin' "I ain't got gas"
You're so non-sharp you couldn't
Cut dead grass
And you suck more than the best blowjob
Facts every real skin knows you're blowin'
Smoke out your ass
Y'all should be like gay redneck porn stars
Travel together dressed like
Queer ass cowboys
Throw glitter at each other
Make small cat noises
'Cause both y'all some pussies with
Some fuzzy rat toys fuckin' weirdos