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null - bag (usa) lyrics

[verse 1: mylon moore]

stumbled upon my conscience in a dungeon
enc-mbered by my wonders and enigmas and conundrums
it’s slumbered in a bunker where my dreams are torn asunder
from reality and humbled from the troubles of my blunders
now i’m held captive by the grasp of my p-ssion
dwelling in the past tense impacted all my actions
secluded in a bastion with notepads and hashish
a bowl packed with gr-ss and a full gl-ss of jack whisk
i got a knack for this rap sh-t, probably
feeling saucy from these vodka shots up in my body
got a stye in my third eye, i can’t open it widely
so i wander blindly, anne frankly that’s something that jew would n-z-
quick to accept a challenging task
known himself his whole life but can’t fathom his acts
so sorry dad, let me waste a couple gallons of gas
a g*nius but he doesn’t utilize his talents in cl-ss

[verse 2: mylon moore]

cause transcripts don’t reflect intelligence
i’m so incredulous and i’m sedulous spitting pestilence
the imperfect perfectionist, possessor of the medicine
is looking for a woman to direct this erection in
spend my time trying to find where my mind is
but the sign says “no loitering past nine”
so let’s wander to a land where the sky is neon lime
and your crime-lined mind is supplied with sublime rhymes
flow lunar drop jaws when the bars end
c-ck jocking frauds need a motherf-cking lozenge
let your mind sharpen and broaden outside the margins
i’m often coughing, from the carbon monox sparking

[verse 3: mylon moore]

a cryptic critic whose lyrics are parasitic
and by statistics i’m impolitic and spit acidic
a catalytic necessity, recipe for brevity
inequity cause there’s a vas defrens like vasectomies
so prepare yourself cause the best has yet to come
sharp as bayonets and the paycheck invests in blunts
no time for silly cons like fake br–sts
tight as g-y s-x at the apex next to none
a f-cking indi roasting, witty joking city folk
a dual wielding woody holding, pitied, moping hardly sober
a lonely interloping, penny boasting, gritty, chosen soldier
with a plethora of n-ggas who don’t really know him
feeling desolate when surrounded with friends
it’s confounding how this troubled child surmounted again
instead of putting the nine to his crown announcing the end
but now the silent high gaijin astounds with the pen
so f-ck your hipster b-tch, n-gga f-ck the clique you’re with
f-ck the constipation cause it’s hard for me to give a sh-t
and f-ck the governmental for how f-cked up the system is
rich f-cks don’t know what the value of a penny is
they know the flow is sick, hot scolding golden sh-t
b-tches think i’m crazy, so reluctant just to blow my d-ck
it’s funny how the f-ggots who don’t f-ck with me will ride my d-ck
i just started rapping and already f-cking sick of it

- bag usa lyrics

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