Sterns To Western Songtext

I add an S because I'm special
get well and got blessed
So we can battle you n me on payperview
Kid Lexus coming to a neighbourhood near you
Now you in danger, shell shock, now you got caught
Your plan wasn't well thought, yo, perhaps you should walk
No need for lollygagging, especially when Brandon's rappin on the mic
I'm like a cannon so it ain't hard to imagin
turn my mic off, I gotta go, I gotta be alone
I feel it now, I'm goin home, somebody please take me home

Double K

Ayo, I think that I should mention, the way that we be lynchin'
utilizing the beat like housewives to the kitchen
Man, it's Stephen Cool King, bring horror in ya life
Causin pain and strife holdin a black knife
No need for the violence cuckoo straighter hair like Violet
Not worryin about the back talk we fuckin trains of thought
derail ya whack emcees, while I rock on the track Take a puff on the black, man I don't wanna hear ya rap
so don't do it in my presence, I rip ya like a gift
destroy your whole direction, you're going to need protection
Aw fuck it, I'm like sherm on your final term paper
we drivin you nuts, just put a P in the suss
yeah man I'm kinda clever like old jewish dudes
Put the pen to the paper and what ya got's a fresh caper
matter the dappa dee and the threads are 88
and I ain't getting off the mic
till I clean my funky plate
Ayo, we're not done, we're not done
More shows, free booze, bad news, and new cruise
Fool we come to ya town be prepared to get slapsed
So sing along to the funk and wait for the homey to rap
It's like lalalala laaaaaa lalalalalaaaaa lalalalalaaaaa lalalalalaaaa
Thes One

The park from the normal tracks when I brainstorm
I rain forever and every last track sort of fits
That's scap they stole my shit that most cleverly writ
so witness that poetic aesthetic perfection spittin cat
publicly published the beat phat with a ph
deconstruct corrupt mcs that front bay
Oh well amazin all that junk punk I sunk
ya battleship dunce once my lips spit arightoutta ya spine
Soundwaves, thes on the dotted line, and skip the fine print
when I imprint my mint monogram of fame
on ya skeletal frame, since I stock
graph the vat like Rustonium stock caps
they will make ya needle skip, make ya caps clog, scuff ya shell toes
I flip the fake rappers like Al pogs
I got a rhyme for every fine girl
and wittier like jam the track like beavers on a railroad
near a river when I deliver
the cool concentrate it shivers ya prostate
I get pissed off when I gotta wait
for rappers to finish their freestyles
every time I rhyme my train of thought
I turn style to Bart, I'm worthwhile
like the Blemids chillin in Springfield
I'm ill and still don't do no shows in Shelbyville
At jams I kill competition like the running man
running things like airbrushed jeans a gaddam.


(Thanks to supabongwong for these lyrics)