Jaq Simpson - Axl Rose (White Walls) lyrics

Rollin down the street, car rocks set of switches Axl rose, no hydraulics, do you get it b**hes Rockin guns and roses hand gently set it twitches On the trigger as he bites down on the end it hits his Frontal, disgruntled, this little c*nt is just seven inches From his demise, watch him co*k back, sets the finch his Only words for the birds is to spread them wings and Fly motherf**ers, die, other f**ers use syringes I prefer a different kind of shot but that aside Last straw, step on the petals, hey, I guess that's a ride Hay riding, get it yet, naw, b**h hats aside I'm pedal to the metal, f** a stock, I'm a mastermind Fully upgraded, and updated, with an alibi And his flow's all that, no Amanda Bynes Said his flow's all that, no tampa time Yeah he's eastern, something like a motherf**in' panda I'm Silent as a Pantomime I'm so sick, sinister Sick as minister Touching ya sister They hug and f** and kiss her This sh** is sick bruh, the illest realest scripture Ya get the f**in' picture, i'm off a gram no insta I'm on my f**in' tinder, i'm laying logs like timber Just kidding, tinders for narcissistic pigs, you's a sick f** Duke you just lost half your fan base, why f**in' this up, because you dick s**in' sh**s missing metaphors while you get yo sh** f**ed Just cuz you met a four of a Reddit forum, you think you in love No f**er you in for a treat, just hit that sick s*ut like a sick pup, drown her in dick or crowne her like Vick, either way just get your sh** up Then put her body back in the coughin' b**h, you sick f** You can lick s**, stick tuck and sip duck, that's a pecker Peking out your neck ring while you dick s** You f**in' stiff cuck, you b**h buck, let's get shucked, a corny motherf**er, never change, f** a tip cup This kids tough, as sh** son, I said don't get rough ‘Less you lookin' for a whoopin' like a cushion, sit up So sit back, relax, throw your f**ing kicks up Baby, grab a drink and kick back with a sip cup This sh**s cuff, and I'm off it, on my WIC stuff Stomping on these fruits, food stamps, get it yet son I bet not, the bets off, put your bets up The kids bluff'll pick up, something like a tricked truck So give f**s, or don't, cuz I don't give much Just walked into the party, I'm already on my fifth cup My fifth fifth, my sixth hit, and my next f** My seventh heaven, eighth eighth, ninth life, and tenth chuck I ain't talkin' shoes although I got it on em, sick's stuck To the holes in his soles and cuts in his slick stuff This sh**s done, sorry for this pent up Anger, consider this payback for the days when the kids f**ed With him, now the rhythm got em hittin' up the kid for Xanies cuz they heard he spittin' bars, minus mitzvah