Piché - Syllables (feat. Prince Zuko)

Yeah
Yeah
I don’t fuck with y’all
I’ve been better at doing all this
Like how did you make your song
You been stealing beats all along
I’m performing out on the court
You been keeping the benches warm
I’m alone and I set the score
Y’all been faking it like a orgasm
Spasm like I’m seizing the beat
Y’all could make your shit neat, busy beating your meat
Y’all are copy-paste rappers, making 240p
I got a better option, hit control-alt-delete
I’m Chris Piché bitch, got your girl like a toy
I know you’re never stealing mine ‘cause y’all fuck boys
I ain’t playing fair, I’m giving kicks to the groin
And I don’t got a Trojan, but I took your bitch to Troy
From the 207
I’m colder than zero kelvin
I’m higher than fucking heaven
You’re more like smoking the resin
I’m making this with aggression
‘Cause y’all just take with no credits
And still make one out of tens
And my shit is more like eleven4
Never hit me back
Brushed me off like plaque
Now they hear me on these tracks
They want in on rapsI j
I don’t fuck with that
Hop off of my dick
Starting up my own clique
Old Rec making it big
‘Bout to pop like a zit
Y’all are fucking stupidAnd
You do not know how to do this
Your girl wanted kamasutra
But she smelling like a tuna
I’m doing better than ever
I’m Dynamite with the tether
I’m coming up from the cellar
Y’all are falling like September, shouting
(Ahh) Y’all are falling like September
Y’all are falling like September (Ahh)
Yeah
Y’all are falling like September (Ahh)
Yeah
Y’all should probably surrender
Zuko’s in the building
I’m raising like a hundred children
And turning ‘em into mini me’s
Helping me with my villain shit
I do not have limits
My music is not a gimmick
I gave out my golden tickets
The rest of you bitches missin’ it
Kiss a dick
Your family tree looks like a porcupine
Full of pricks, beat ‘em in Fortnite, I’m fortified
45 - half of the angle that’s in the quarter pie
Also the amount of times my dick was in your daughter’s thighs, whoa (whoa)
Don’t worry that bitch was 18
Brought the ID scanner ‘cause the ladies always faking
Not me though (nah), I’m making that pussy splatter
I eat it without the platter with a side of eggs and bacon
I just be rolling in circles, my face is so purple
And still I get dizzy when listening
To all the stupid excuses for rappers
Feed on attention like sucking on kitties
Get your mans
I would never put you in my plans
Imma just lock you in a dark room
Put your single track in a loop for you
You are not an artist
I guess that’s what makes you starvin’
Now go back to your apartment
And fatten yourself like Cartman
I’m into some freaky shit
And if you’re scared of me you’re a bitch
I bury you in a ditch before you drop the mic and quit, ay
(Yeah)
(Scoo-wee)
Y’all are falling like September
Yeah
Y’all are falling like September
Y’all should probably surrender

Written by:
Chris Piché, Matt Izuka

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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