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meatbags - disjointed lyrics

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hk-47 : “love’ is making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometers away using an aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope. not many meatbags could make such a shot, and strangely enough, not many meatbags would derive love from it.”

(verse 1)
hang the noose up the dry, i’ll f-ck your wife
when ladies hear my voice, they clutch their thighs
rocking triple xl shirts that i tuck inside my
chub and hide, to go along with my f-ckin tie

i’m ominous, bully anemic cats with confidence
unruly, a fiend at that, truly the meanest match. i promise it
y’all incompetent, -ssert opulent dominance
find us bribing fraudulent occupants in our providence

looting corpses to gain my cred back
who need a med pack, y’all att-tudes a red flag, acting like a fed had
sniper scope on target, acriate
victims acquiesce, marksmanship is actually sick

none of my hostages react
otherwise i’d get a lawsuit from the fine bros and i don’t got proper chips to stack
copywriting any regular word you like to say on a daily basis
i’m an alien, face it. manipulating humans in the radiant matrix

(chorus)
putting my feet back, goodie oh goodie see black
would he get woody or relapse
st–z max, relax
gimme another cup a tea, f-g
luck is up in a greed match
tough, as i’m puffing up my weak flaps
prepared to start f-cking up meatbags

hk-47 : “and of course, they refer to meatbags as ‘organics’. unacceptable.”

(verse 2)
yo yo barf in ditch, rockin arsonist kicks
pardon the jargon i’m barking at barmen, yo carth is a b-tch
boomslang got boundless quality, we the anomalies
rap mongering barbarians conquering colonies, no apologies

y’all the ant-thesis of sith, insufficient and simplistic in nature
p-ssing on sp-cers, listen my glyphs that i spit are sick as my maker
my fridge is a glacier, sandwiches are major
endless riches i wager for a shot at fisting your sister or she kiss on my neighbors

i don’t pity the fool, kidding i’ll pity the grittiest mule
hideous ghouls, oblivious, seeking my vitreous tools
don’t utter my name, came in gutterish dames
in pain, step out of my lane, lil putter, you pixy, you lame

oh what, can i not say what’s f-ckin on my mind right now
are you scared of the chance what i’ll do to you when i find out
ah, better be, if you weren’t, that’s where you’re headed, b
watch yourself, i’m drinkin hennessy, 1’s bad enough, how ‘bout ten of me

(chorus)
putting my feet back, goodie oh goodie see black
would he get woody or relapse
st–z max, relax
gimme another cup a tea, f-g
luck is up in a greed match
tough, as i’m puffing up my weak flaps
prepared to start f-cking up meatbags

- disjointed lyrics

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