Текст Earl Sweatshirt – AM // Radio

Cats always tryna’ pick up the fist
Duff this dude out
Rappers stoop just to get to your crib
Now it’s like who’s face? who’s warped? too sauced
Distort thoughts, on my corpse on the asphalt
Back when I’d slack more, rock my slacks or my ass
Everytime, I rap I blast-off
Back when I catch Cor’, I always had Sports
Dippin’ on cops in my track shorts
So tell my mom I had to make it right
I lie every night about the lime-light so I could lie at night
And tell my Pops’ I gotta’ take advice
Keep my head screwed on tight, abuse these mics
See me, I’m the contusion type
A cat to smack a mic and catch my fuckin’ hair when I’m losing height
Ratking, never losing hype, no
It’s Ratking and I do it right
Ratking, yeah, I do it nice, woah

Earl Sweatshirt:
Bitch, I skated before I rapped, if you take me before your captain
Bet twenty hots on your Daddy
?, probably cold and passive
Cause’ Pops’ was the one that got to me
Feeling down like he passed it and when I’m cornered, it’s action
I was kinda’ out the game, I’ma put the quarter right back in the slot
In 09′, we took the 7 to the Dussy 17 to the block

Bitch, if yo’ nigga had Supreme, we was the reason he copped it
And nowadays, I’m on the hunt for lyrics to box with
And some pretty bitches that ain’t trip if it’s a hit and run
I got the gold cause’ I don’t do the crying bro
She Mario, I’m tryna’ keep the whining to a minimum
Piggies come, bet i’m splittin’ quicker than I finish rum
Find me some Indica, nuggets on my fingers and my shirt like they was chicken crumbs
The room spinnin’, finna’ yak if I don’t hit the blunt
Got the chin wagon, slim chances of me getting up
After this, mind in the trash next to where my fuckin’ passion went
Doc’s fanatics, half-a-Xanax when I’m traveling six hours or more
Brick out on the tour, got kicked out of the morgue
Spit cattle manure shit, shit, rally the Horsemen
Tally the corpses