come at her like
Whats your name?
What you in to?
naw thats not ganna work
got to get those words that ganna get you
hold you like the pedals i'll never bruise
Naw to deep thats way to soon
how can i do this
step up to the table like hello my name is Luis
man im like screw this
stressing to much thinking to far
gotta act quick before another dude raises the bar
I got it i got it i'll dance for her
naw got to think out the box
done thinkin ... i'll just wright a poem
Send her my thoughts.
End it with XOXO i like you a lot.
You already know, young Dan pops the heater
Come and slam a bitch, like a WWE Diva.
I go H.A.M on the track, tote the mac
Any nigga talk shit, Imma smack him with the strap.
So racked up, I could buy the mall
Come through, shop at Mr.Big and Mr.Tall.
I swear these days the kids think they can rap
With their #swag and their #yolo and snapback caps.
But I'd like to show them what RAP means in this country
I'll spell it out: RHYTHMIC AMERICAN POETRY.
Without your stanzas and word composition
you're just another rapper with an arrogant disposition.
Without a positive message and a humble demeanor
you've got negativity causing the children to get meaner.
You blast the bass and you spit your rhymes
you claim that the haters, "they be lying."
But you fail to see that at the heart of it all
you're more like Lil' Wayne than Biggie Smalls.
I'm truly sorry if you get offended by this rant,
but first thing's first;
Pull up your pants...
My throat’s all scratched from this screaming I’ve done
My diaphragm is all rubbery from these animal calls
But I carry on until you answer my distresses
O Captain, o Captain! Take me away from these generic hoes
I’m too swag for this ghetto
These bitches be hatin’ but you were always mine for the takin’
So take me now—like I did you…
Please. We’re friends. We’ve partied together and cried together.
I even bought you taco bell.
Take me away on your disco stick because
This club can’t handle me and my electric sex pants
What good is your love when just our chakras touch…
I need your grasp, I need your smell…and your sexy, dramatic stare
Captain, my Captain, you may not be fly like Kanye
And I may not be glam like Beyoncé,
But this club can’t handle us right now