Earl Sweatshirt - Elimination Chamber

Song Rating: 7.54/10

Song lyrics:

[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]
Yo, um, yo
Oh-so-cocky, you cant stop me in this old Versace
n***a watch me in the streets like its roller hockey
Your b**h is floppy, givin sloppy while she call me papi
Takin the doggies right to the face like she Kobiyashi
You n***as flow is washy, Im gettin mines dry cleaned
Tight seam, it might seem, Im sellin b**hes pipe dreams
Hi fiends, Im back with a bag of them packed white things
My nikes clean, I see these n***as hatin through my ice blings
Im a bad motherf**er, I aint use a rubber
Super lover, so soon you say hello to your newest brother
The truest colors what I bleed, but you aint seen enough of
n***a leakin, you gon have to go see the deacon you stupid s**a
Young Dom, say you old n***as should wrap it up
You wack, focus back on the craft, you hardly rap enough
The fattest blunt and d**h to that pop-hop, I aint ask for much
And stop askin for the collabs cause all you bastards s**

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
This that thirty deep, its Saugus sh**, fire starter, squadron
Dodgin coppers since, ask her why she droppin cuz, its probably cause
He prodigious, pay the rent easy, leave the bank cheesy
And ba** leave your face greasy, artisan, paint easy
Thick bristle type n***a on a b**h steez
Stanzas diesel like Vic Tanny on a fritz, whoops
System overload, itchin for a foe to poach
Spittin like the engine on a motherf**in motorboat
Gold glisten under overcoat, missin all
Affection for these n***as, redirectin all these n***as
Very literal, type to sip the Mickeys out of cereal
Drunk and drivin, twisty, how he inked up in the swimming pool?
Hundred stand against me, Im a menace void a villain, sue me
Drivin into fences cause I hit the whip a little woozy
b**h Im busy cruisin
Scuse me

[Verse 3: Vince Staples]

Cant even walk up in the church without these n***as tryin to testify
I live to die, better that than to live a lie
I rap better than most these rap veterans
Hard-headed and hopeless, hope that God let us in
Momma didnt wanna give birth to a n***a
Shouldve murdered a n***a, Im a cancer to the youth
Automatics out the roof, 380 with the weave in it
On site, scary as prom nights with Carrie
Or car rides with Berry, thats Halle not Brent
Shootin like Brent and his brother, doin what daddy had did
n***as want Grammys and sh**, thats funny to me
Cause since the first take its been about money to me
Im just tryin to get what Diddy got, doing what got Biggie shot
They told me that I wasnt sh**, but left me in a litter box
Give it up and get a job

[Verse 4: Action Bronson]
Uh, get a job b**h
Im like the boss from the end of the Nintendo game
My brain is on another level, I can feel the Devils pain
Only address me by my reverend name: the good doctor
The good author, good brain in a good Porsche
Dancin drunk in dress pants like Im a hunk
Backflip in a jacuzzi, forty floors inside the Trump
Front-flip into this high yellow Chinese b**hs rump
Then she make me chicken broccoli for lunch
I roll a joint like a Motumbo arm- Im high cousin
Every time I roll the dice its five hundred
When I order wine, its nine hundred, French chefs kneel before me
End of story take a shorty to the sortee
Thats the bathroom, you already know what happens there
I pull my swimming trunks down, she s** me through the boxer
While Im wearin flip-flops
sh**s real, grip the wheel, lift steel
Thats it

Woo, f** yeah, hello
Fan fare, bravo, encore
Thats a wrap

Date of text publication: 16.01.2021 at 05:33