Put the cucumber in the vodka
It’s a cruel summer, it been hot bruh
Mom claim Italian, Pops a city Jew
They was both more pasta than latkes
Pops always said “Watch your posture”
He ain’t know my shoulders held lots up
Used to hold me in the mirror, say I was champ of the world, sh#t wasn’t gossip
Accurate forecast
Lookin for it, don’t need more passion
Puttin’ rappers in the compost cause can’t afford any more trash
I don’t got anymore passes, feel compassion slippin’ away
All this savageness in a cage
Whole culture is MMA
Watch the lightning in the clouds, everything pretty til it hits Earth
Our construction is destruction, tell me really what’s the sh#t worth?
What’s the purpose for a wordsmith if the doors they supposed to open ‘bout to be permanently closed in?
Is it really all just for coping?
Put the cucumber in the vodka
It’s a cruel summer, it been hot bruh
Mom claim Italian, Pops a city Jew
They was both more pasta than latkes
Pops always said “Watch your posture”
He ain’t know my shoulders held lots up
Used to hold me in the mirror, say I was champ of the world, sh#t wasn’t gossip
On my own, I don’t got a roster
Dread on my mind like a rasta
Stressed all the time, pull the sauce up
Young redundant, never puntin’
4th and long, always find a way
I’ll be strong my own kinda way
I be strong my own kinda way
Shit, that’s all I been tryna say
If you got a problem wit me
I don’t really gotta care no more
I’m gon’ walk in my peace
I don’t gotta interfere no more
Who want it?
b#tch I ain’t no newcomer
Cool as the cucumber in the vodka
Baby, it’s a new summer
I don’t got a new number
b#tch I got the same doggone line
Might be hard to find though
Somewhere lost in my mind
Still gon’ be the champ though
Still gon’ be the champ
Still gon’ be the champ though
Still gon’ be the champ
Still gon’ be the champ though
Still gon’ be the champ
Even if it ain’t a world left, baby I’ll be damned
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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