Thierry Demers - The Kid's Racist lyrics

Cops roll hatin' - pop, lock and dislocate 'em Won't know it's them, they rock disguises like roleplayin' Even when it's cold, rainin'...i go paintin' Think Rome's ancient? i got throws that are cold cases While toys beefin' like G.I. Joe and Cobra agents I'm more concerned with layin' low, man you gnomesayin'? Shorty was so patient, body was so bangin' Smokin' bu*t, no douja and she 'stog blazin' So hot, got your ho faintin', hotter than a gold plated Phaeton or a Phantom on stolen Daytons I'll kick your door in like home invasions Tourin' Vegas to Copenhagen, outside got the tourists waitin' No more, you see the correlation? (ease back with your feedback, dunny) don't need your okayin' Your show lame and you're so flagrantly c**ainin' My whole day's so lame, only ate cold ramen I can't wait to get home, i got some smoke waitin' Sit alone, zonin' stoned, cold coma patient To a t, connect dots like we go trainin' Next spot, might bounce like it's postdated Next meal, roadk** for the crows waitin' Best deal, yo get real.get your dough- makin' Buildin' blocks, my motivation is no debatin' We stampede, bad seeds with the soul of Satan (hook) The Kid's Racist, paints b**hes from all places We Darth Vaders in chocolate flavored Clark gators We crate diggers, you ballbreakers cannot fade us With clipper scissors or crossfaders, do not play us do not name us, composite sketch or try trace us For revenge, pop shots where your pops' grave is Car chases on the way to court cases And they ain't got time to budge, text message bribe the judge Attorney at law, part of me says the bar raised us That's why we bubble to the top like scotch chasers God's favorite, long gone since his mom made him Knew he'd be a criminal, dropped him off at the cop station Conversations, altercations then incarcerations If i don't trust you i won't f** with you, even the broad i'm datin' Taught me the art of waitin' But it turned into a long bid... picture me at auctions for post-modern paintings You emulators and imitators ain't innovators You bit your favorites then sprinkled with artificial flavors Your chance of survival depends on our fickle nature So we said our little prayers to your incubators You been traitors - your word don't mean sh**, player Your b**h schooled me? what, she got a "Eat-A-Dick" major? Swing chairs like Ric Flair, middle fingers flick into mid-air Yeah, you sinkin' in despair You get sorta dissed, yeah... but over thick snares Sounding like a cla**ic hit there, So Sincere They kinda stick to your head, like a nymph's hair From the jizz layers that's been glazin' these chicks' faces (hook)