[Produced by Nottz]
[Intro: Mac Miller]
I wrote this under the influence of narcotics
Yeah
Play them horns!
Young raspy god
[Verse 1: Mac Miller]
Why you f**ing up my good mood?
The Bimmer used but it look new
Your raps dry as over cooked food
My sh** is kaboom
I took shrooms
Now I'm playing dodgeball in a crooked room
So address me as your superior
Mind on delirium, ice cold interior
Stirring up the chaos, I'm the cause of the confusion
Young grown a** nuisance with the strength of 22 men
Puking all over your brand new accoutrements
Lucrative, a**a**in them but shoot to miss
I turn my body into Eucharist
Nail me to a crucifix
If I'm gonna k** myself then I'mma do it big
Scaling Mount Vesuvius
We don't even know what being human is
And what's a man when he loses wits?
Useless as the news at 6
Fools mean nothing but a bunch of rotten and stupid kids
[Hook: Mac Miller]
I wanna, I wanna punch you (punch you)
I wanna, wanna, I wa-
I wanna punch you (punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f**ing face (Oh b**h!)
[Verse 2: Mac Miller]
You live inside a computer
In 2014, religion turn to rumor
Manuever through the world in an Uber
Born to be a loser to the world, I'm just a tumor they'll remove
If I would've done my schoolwork
I could've been an Oklahoma Sooner with a golden retriever I named Cooper
Part time at Kruger's
Working on securing me and future the American dream
Big titty b**hes guaranteed a spot on the team
Bust inside my pants, leave a spot on my jeans
Clean it up
Why pretty girls always mean to us
I'm the Godzilla of mess
Leave my house forgetting that I'm still in a dress
*gun sounds*
Gun sounds, gun sounds
[Hook]
I wanna, I wanna punch you (punch you)
I wanna, wanna, I wa-
I wanna punch you (punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f**ing face (Oh b**h!)
Yeah I wanna, I wanna punch you
I wanna, wanna, I wa-
I wanna punch you (punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f**ing face (Oh b**h!)
[Verse 3: Sean Price]
I'm worldwide but I smack clowns local
Gunshots, MOP background vocals
Fire in the hole of the designer of your clothes
On the up and up you f**in' up, why you f**ing with those
Planet of the apes, the survival of the goons
I'm so dope, you could put the lighter on the spoon
I'm tightest with the tunes, need a verse and I write it son
Master this sh** with no practice b**h, Al Iverson
f** the king of New York, in my presence they all peasants
The king is all talk
Whoever holding the crown
Better pa** that sh** to me, P I'm holding it down
f** if you the greatest
A lot of rappers got k**ed, f** around and be the latest
Your bars warm, my sh** smoking
I pitch Knicks at my pace, I'm Chris Copeland
Yeah
[Hook: Mac Miller]
I wanna, I wanna punch you (punch you)
I wanna, wanna, I wa-
I wanna punch you (punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f**ing face (Oh b**h!)