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Sike! (Subp Yao Remix)

I've been on some burn it down, leave this town, never look back shit

Passing out on your couch, sneaking out the back tip

Ripping credit cards out your mail box, snatch shit

Charge it to the gameplay boy, it's practice

(What are we talking about, practice? We're talking 'bout practice, man.)

They be on some got this, squat this, reroute the power grid

Cops can't stop this, over our dead body, bitch

Heat this, drop this, turn it up louder kid

Put it down in our path, million ways around this shit

We backstage, sterilising tattoos with beer

Your cats stay paralysed from bad news and fear

You're underage, they'n't fucking let you in here

Fake ID, G, you'll buy us all a beer

I'm sick of kids who sit and bitch about they can't get into shit

Your 'woe is me' steez is just getting bit ridiculous;

Fucking ay you're underage, that means they just slap your wrist

If not you're young and fit, yeah bitch I'm running pits

Hah! And give them all trophies

Hah, and some orange slices

Yeah y'all already know me

One of the only that's really grinding

Lazy motherfuckers want to call it luck

But real motherfuckers know there ain't no such

Thing 'cos I mean there ain't no free lunch

You better fix your own plate or serve one to us

Stay waiting for your dad to come save the day, dog

Voted for Obama and expect the change

Is just one big party all giving the same gifts

Sike

Like a P.O.S. t-shirt

Yikes

It's only gonna be worse

Right

But this beat is kinda beserk

Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurtYeah girl, I own some gold teeth

I'm Southern, I was taught to hold heat

Ain't no gangster, tell that true

Rick Ross just a cop with some bad tattoos

Hey, front up baby and my neck stay real red

Why you make-believe pushing that white shit?

You dressed-up gangsters can play pretend

I stay slinging them white girls 'round my bed

Young Steve McQueen spit that dick game

You tweet real posse for a bitch with a tin chain

I don't need no Maybach just to sharpen my pimp game

Pull girls on my bike, ride my handlebars home man

Ooh, I put my word on that chief

Rihanna gonna holla way I murdered that beat

I cut them like an umbrella, King Kong in the bed sheets

Just try a better fella when you're done with that deadbeat

Sike

Like a P.O.S. t-shirt

Yikes

It only gonna be worse

Right

Beat is kinda beserk

Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurtSee? I can write your dumb raps

Pay me and go buy some hubcaps

Fake G's still talking 'bout gun claps

It ain't gonna happen, like A-Rod's comeback

Talent is cheap, money's all made up

Gallons of Beam and the speakers stay bassed up

Fuck it, I got nothing left to say, son

Y'all Get Cryphy, thank you Based GodSike

Like a P.O.S. t-shirt

Yikes

But it only gonna be worse

Right

But this beat is kinda beserk

Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt

Sike

Like a P.O.S. t-shirt

Yikes

But it's only gonna be worse

Right

And this beat is kinda beserk

Turn it up loud until my fucking teeth hurt

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