Party Supplies - Tapas lyrics

[Verse 1: Action Bronson] Yeah my sole purpose/Long hair, speak Turkish Twisted sisters out like the UniverSoul Circus About to cop the crib furnished Wood burning brick oven sh** with the furnace Quattro fromage Big plate look like a lobster collage I'm on the art and the food scene f** rap, laying back, eating poutine Matter of fact, couple raps will make a coupe lean While you see me in the shorts all weather Whether Puerto rica b**hes chilling on the boardwalk Rockaway smelling like Georgi Ready for orgies, slightly retarded Breading the porgy 20 seconds dead in the forty All this money to be gotten Hailin' from the rotten Scotch make it neat, no socks on the feet When I'm stepping the loafer Creamy like the robiola Guaranteed I'm getting box like an old controller Baby momma catching cases High speed chases Fiends rocking the ID bracelets You only live once, so f** if I'mma waste it I'm in France, stepping on grapes, you can taste it Yeah, make cheese like the fromagia Tatted chest cover pain wash the scars Daddy disapprove of my life just like I'm Marvin Gaye Keep the Dodge, I want the '87 Saab in gray [Verse 2] Stuff a shorty like the man a gut Light tan on the shoe like banana nut Strong odor off the weed like your grandma's bu*t No attempt to disrespect, but my grandma blunt But I'm known to eat expensive lunches From the farm right to the table Aired straight right to the plate I doubt you could relate Figs at the peak of their ripeness Money off this music, motherf**er I like this So cut the check [Verse 3] Ayo, the kush get flipped to a swan origami Floating in the water, north of North Dakota Dip to Barcelona Algeria connection p**y like a leather jacket Been to hell and back They tried to sell me back, but they couldn't Hookers by the Ho-Jo chillen with Doc Gooden “tapas up for grabs so f** it, then why wouldn't Bronson be the one coming through with the gold belt