Luck Of The Irish
Look
My brain feels like a bag of maggots
My heart’s a can of gas, a pack of matches
Straight savage, no Macho Man
I’m not your fam, I shot your mans, post it on the Gram
Fiends copping grams ’cause they vein’s itching
I stand with a couple hoes so they stay b*t*hing
But sometimes I wanna cry inside
I wish someone would help slit my wrist on the dotted line
Before you drink the cyanide look Jim Jones in his eyes
And say that he’s a b*t*h, I’d rather live, I don’t wanna die
The People’s Temple, you’re just following the sheep
Boy, you’re gripping on your rosaries, rest in peace
A padded room infested with c*ckroaches
I’m in a straitjacket but the door’s open
I met a stripper that said she wanna get some dinner
I just gave her d**k and then I microwave some chicken fingers
I gotya eat, I’m more hungry than I ever been
I know you hear me knockin’, well b*t*h, let me in
I’m ’bout to give ’em a taste of their own medicine
I got they heads bobbin’ like they nodding off of her#in
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
I hit the bottle, hit the blunt, and hit your b*t*h raw
While the kids are crying for they mom in the other room
I go full throttle on that c**t, like cut ’em up slow
It hella painful while livestreaming, they meet they doom
Yeah! Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, they are lying about our whereabouts
It ain’t safe for you, we lying in wait to tear you out
The grizzly bears is out hungry for more than berries
Warned ’em person is food for the worms corpses buried
These mortuaries overfilled with all your loved ones
That are dead and gone, the smoking gun is in my hand
So understand I’m not your friend as your f**king blood runs
Like Cherry Kool-Aid that got spilled and it is the end
Rip your limbs from your body, pin your skin to the mounting
On the walls as strangers entered the room, painted, but gender a**ume
Your life is slowly fading in the bathtub draining
Grossly staining inside the room tonight with Cody Manson
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
No, no, don’t drink the Kool Aid
I write my verses in my head, you cannot steal my style
But if I had a rhyme book, they treat it like the Bible
Haters run they mouth wishing they could be my rivals
‘Til they laying in the hospital fighting for they survival
I spit venom and I breathe reefer
A meat cleaver for you non-believers
Leave you in a deep freezer
F**k the bloggers and the reef tweeters
Could probably give yo b*t*h the D for a free t-shirt
Look this new wave is strung out from the Kool-Aid
But when I drop a tape it is more like the Crusades
I’m doing me, I don’t give a f**k what you say
I’m a underdog, I’m the rap game’s Liu Kang
A black sheep that was raised by a pack of wolves
I’m from the city but I know my way around the woods
I’m from the gutter, yeah, I really got it out the mud
Kick the door, where’s the stash spots?, snatch up all the goods
Some people have some problems within
So they start following trends, it don’t make any sense
I’ll never sell my soul so there’s no need to repent
But I’m still on that cult sh*t, word to Damien Quinn (Yeah!)
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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