Текст Upchurch – So Brooklyn (Remix)

Creek Squad motherfucker
Uh, let’s get it

I heard some people got a problem, well let me get the match then
I think you need a light to see you’re sittin’ in a wolf den
I’m more positive I got blood drippin’ off of my chin
Kickin’ up the mud like a wild boar inside a pig pen
You couldn’t divide me from hip-hop even if you emptied my dividends
I was broke and livin’ up under a bridge
Still record an album on a phone and the thing Homeless
Volume 1, no cap, I’ll make that underpass a home bitch
Uh, my style lingerin’ now
Baby Face Nelson shootin’ every single cash cow
Most these rappers commercial, like «It’s my money, I need it now»
Fuck money, so what, I’m too busy gettin’ turnt up
Can we turn up green Church snatchin’ rappers like a tow truck
I’m horny in hip-hop and like the morning Sunday young bucks
And if you cross my headlights that brush guard’ll get you fucked up
I turn my haters into country singers who wear pink shirts
I’m a hurricane and a half, the Johnny to the Cash
Tsunami to the water, submarine to a splash
Give me that pad again, it’s time to get on my rappin’ shit
I just got done recordin’ classics with a banjo and a mandolin
If there’s an obstacle I’m smashin’, attackin’
Regardless of my weight or my asthma
I got AC-30 shells, pack it down in a pinpoint
I’ve been practicin’ practically on a raft with a raft

White waters what I’m finna drown you with
And that’s a river rat fact I ran through every bit of backlash
Glad bag me motherfucker, yeah I’m white trash
All I need now is a scissor cut mullet
A cool cut-off shirt that says «Church said fuggem»
Just to let y’all know I’m feelin’ happy again
I deleted half my contacts now I feel more content
So everybody better swerve unless you lookin’ for a dent
I’m The General ’round here but I can’t give you no insurance
Don’t be grabbin’ the microphone if you go hard as a micro bone
My platform hella big but my circle fits in a mobile home
Mind power tough when I’m Home Alone
No Macaulay Culkin but I’m caulkin’ the cracks in the open doors
Like I’m still doin’ construction, just walked in the rap scene
Looked around for a minute, went back to the country
Met some rock dudes, chill and smoke a joint out back
Went home while Creeker charted top five three weeks and a half
And that scary from the wolves
But I stay dustin’ ’em off with rooster feathers as we speak
From this point I ain’t doin’ no fuckin’ snippets or leaks
Gotta keep it real to get a feature with me
I ain’t no Stuart Little boy and I ain’t lookin’ for cheese
Give a fuck if his cheddar, swiss, or parmesan with garlic and shit
No new friends, good chillin’ in the cut though
Can’t be with this fifty ’cause I like hangin’ with the cutthroats
I don’t feel like babblin’, my point I have established is
So when your homies ask «What the hell is all that racket skin?»
Just tell ’em it’s a fella with an orange «V» on his sweater
Volunteered to be a beast up on the microphone whenever
No matter the weather, sun, sleet, or eruptin’ volcano
Who chews tobacco and swallows dip just to clear out his vocals
Who likes to Stone Cold Stunna motherfuckers through WrestleMania tables
Fuck the system and the God damn labels
Church (Church, Church, Church)