Childish Gambino - Tru Dudes lyrics
[Childish Gambino] Is it really that bad that my clothes is tight? That I hydrate babes like Pedialyte That I stay rock hard like a meteorite Thought your homeboy here was an idiot right? Welllll you thought wrong, I got flavor I rock shows with the blue light sabre I hit dimes but also date eighters I make moves, blow up like Al'Qaeda I'm in kicks that you can't buy yet Your kicks okay like your name Wyatt Care Bear clockers, pink highlighters Haters wanna snack my heat like firefighters Boys out there think they're just like me Naw naw, y'all funny, y'all from UCB? Y'all standin in line, I'm in V.I.P. Y'all know sh** 'bout me like T.I.P., hah! [Chorus] [skatting and harmonizing] [MC Chris] You think your voice is funny man? That's kind of hilarious I'm the rapper makin money when the shadow in your area I'm like a damager cause I'm a little loquacious I do it for the hotties with the bodies bodacious I'm high pitched, might flip you diss my node Think chris ain't the sh**, you can kiss my chode Kick your a**, sales not too early to boast Seriously bro, hand over the security code Because my rhymes so fresh, green grocers' gotta spray 'em Fired all my lawyers cause I didn't wanna pay 'em From the P.M. to the A.M. I'll slay 'em with the sawed-off Make a little money and I'll smoke the marijuana mc without Glover is Matubb without Wigs Jammin peed the bottle with the grocer on her kids If one smokes Khan, the other smokes Mids Let's mix it up a little like the DJ did Bacardi and Coke, black and white cookie Smokin in the alley cause you know we're playin hookie and we're up to no good, please don't tell our mommas Democrist is the dutch, cause we got this for Obama [Chorus] [Childish Gambino] Sick of the Old Yeller, money like bank tellers The chicks that I'm with are thicker thank Nutella Y'all need to switch quick and get with a slick fella Cause I'm bout to go Rihanna like I'm an umbrella Come over to my place, we can cut like shears And make some mistakes like Jamie Lynn Spears I'm nasty? No - forward? Yes I'm hip to the game, you're a rook like chess My money so long that they call it John Silver's Your money so light that it float like pillows Oopsy, k**ers, you can see Cause they close up shop when the clerks see me I'm not Kanye, but my collar's popped Cause the bro's like soda, I sh** you not This sh**'s bright orange, Fanta shade You got the yellow face, that's my lemonade I'mma try to stay tight like girls that f** hard And stay in the Bay with green like Brett Farve [four bars of silence] [Chorus - to end]