MonkeMan - Callous

They say raccy what the fuck you been doing
I been making music and I'm busy improving
They're cooking something up don't you see you are losing
They don't even know about the stuff I been stewing
Fuck them up and they gon need a fucking paramedic
All these idiots are talking and it's really problematic
Put them in the hospital make sure they do it alphabetic
Cutting all these villians off and they ain't even anesthetic
Step into my head it's a deadly territory
Smoking on this dope they send me to purgatory
Boozing on some alcohol will also do it for me
Those my only sins I'm not saying that I'm not sorry
On my knees and I'm praying to the sky above
Don't you know I think it's time for me to drop the gloves
You say it don't matter but I think it really does
Now you're in the shit so you better hit the bus
Hit the bus hit it hard
Fuck with us you get scarred
In the dust disregard
In the trust that I've barred
I'm on guard shuffling cards
In my yard I won't start
Till I know I can fucking die hard
Killing all these villians I won't send them good riddance
I don't care about your feelings I just care about these millions
Imma hunt some reptillians saving all these civillians
Then I down some penicillins just to feel familiar
Step outside just to feel superiour
All these fuckers talk the same it's getting real linear
Don't judge a book by it's fucking exterior
But they ain't got nothing on the interior
I been busier making all these beats
Step into my shadow so you won't feel the heat
Play this on repeat so you won't feel defeat
I never retreat when I commandeer the fleet
Still on top yeah you know we never stop (Nah)
Hanging by a thread not a leather strop (Uh)
Mop it up swallowing some cough drops I can tell your
Laugh stops when they pull up the tough cops cuz
We hit the bus ain't no stopping us thus
Let's not discuss plus you are out of touch much
Prejudice but the judge got a smudge of sludge
Give a nudge off the cliff like a psycho does
Life's a grudge but it's better than it ever was
Knifes and guns kill better than the cleaver does
Rifles tucked got the pattern ten is way to much
Five's enough and it matters that they pray to us
Pray to god for the bags of money that we got
Thanks a lot we be chilling in this tranquil spot
Worry not we still smoking on the weed we bought
Let them rot cuz they gon end up burning hot

Written by:
Lilian Raccius, Monkiany Manlius

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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