Текст Father – Private Show

Slug Christ:
Yeah
Slugger
Check my sauce bitch

Check my sauce I’m going
‘Cause I feel so good today (yo bitch)
Yo bitch want a private show
She want the serenade (okay now)
Grew up ’round Atlanta now I stay out in L.A. (what)
The metaphysics of this trip is stupid fruity
I secure the bag
And then I step out on the porch
Walk it to the jungle and I walk it out north
I can sense a disturbance inside the fucking force (bitch)
What you wanna know cause I got burdens
?
bitch

Father:
Juked on this hoe and broke her knees
Her ankles bent like plastic
Sum’n ’bout when I’m off that juice
My dude, my juke majestic
Treat these thots like trading cards
Can’t have my holographics
Farm-to-table my girls love the park
I keep ’em grass-fed
Picnic, we kick this shit, her ass swing like pop shove-it
Get my dick licked, she with the shits

Slug Christ:
I get the broccoli, break it all up
I cannot take it, enough is enough
I put the bags in the back of a truck
I take the bag and I chop it all up
Chop it all up
Putting the bags in the back of a truck
Chumbawamba on a bitch
Eat a taco then I dip
Bitch go raise yo kids, ay
And bitch go get some money, ay
Don’t spend it on yourself, ay
And quit tryna talk to me, yuh
Flex on economy
Fuck the economy
I need lobotomy
Or a bottle in front of me

Father:
Scary nigga, I’m a spooky black
You should probably alert your neighborhood watch
Every time a nigga move on the block
Crackers pull up with that burning cross
I’m cold like Minnesota, Henn’ & Cola
Look at this Mont Blanc watch
Naw, nigga, this drip don’t stop
Father Swift boy I might go pop
Yeah I think I’m Kenan think I’m All That
Bitch wanted me to hold the door
I did that hoe just like a doormat
Pulled my dick out her vagina
And I came all on her thorax
Every time I step outside
I think I change the fuckin’ forecast

Slug Christ:
Yeah
Run it up run it up
Remember when we kicked the door in?
You was looking for me all through the morning
Damn the rain is pouring
Damn the rain is pouring