[Verse 1: Mac Miller]
I give no fucks when I go nuts, cause I smoke dust, overdosed on the sofa then.
Woke up from the coma pulled up in a Skoda smoked, went back to bed.
Never thought it would be such a loner, I tell my bitch that I fucking own her.
My neighbor's daughter just got a dog, I'ma run it over, I'm a fucking soldier.
So cold bro fuck pneumonia, all my bitches got love for Sosa, I just wanna fuck.
Roast up coaster then disappear in Southern California.
Strung out to the night, I'm chilling, everybody worried the lights might kill them.
Via sight slipping, long lines of those white women.
I'm with the homies, bump Counting Crows.
Just went through the half ounce of coke, blood pouring out my nose.
Don't tell my mom I got a drug problem, I'm fucking high.
Leave proper size, when the sun go down I come alive.
Cause the guns go off in the summer time, cause the guns go off in the summer time.
Blaow.
[Hook: Mac Miller]
This another motherfucking rap song.
Broke and crazy, rich and famous doesn't last long.
Spent all my cash on a broken dream.
Went from weed and liquor to the coke and lean.
All I got's this mansion and this potpourri.
But don't I look so handsome in these Polo jeans?
Don't I look so handsome in these Polo jeans?
[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
I blow a spliff before the ink dries on the paper.
And lately, I don't like shit, I been inside on the daily.
Getting wasted as the time that I'm spending high and sedated.
I'm putting five in his face, because we don't buy into bullshit.
As soon as it's flashing lights then it's kush to hide in the bushes.
I do this shit out of spite cause there's niggas that overlooked me forever.
I'm more content with dark and stormier weather.
Flip the fucking cross on your rosary, we supposed to be better.
But here's a toast to your efforts, and don't approach me with nothing.
That isn't money or breakfast, I'm close to choking a pussy, pussy.
Sweaty Man, you best had bet your bottom dollar on him.
With a couple niggas, weighing sess like it's a lot options.
15 on me for soda and swishers.
And who's the shit, a bag of chips, and a colon decleanser?
I'm over bitches trying to act like I owe 'em a picture.
Rather introduce these hoes to Vince who could show you a pistol.
Listen, ST was the older initials.
Been rap game tighter than boa constricters.
Rolling stone like a Boulder raving, I'm so impatient and going dumb as.
Disclosing my fucking home location to total strangers.
No love in my heart for coppers, blood from my lungs on the sink.
Cashing out off the garments, the artist, fuck what you think.
Scowl turned black and the carriers could pick.
And my flesh when I rest, tell 'em bury me adrift.
[Hook: Mac Miller]
[Ab-Soul]
Soulo.