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fuck everybody - ruin your day lyrics

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[intro: illmac]
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do
ch-ch-cha-cha-chase moore

[hook: illmac]
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do
everybody talkin’, i don’t listen to ’em
homie, who the f-ck you talkin’ to?
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do

[verse 1: daylyt]
i couldn’t wait ’til we meet
i butcher all beef
i hurt y’all, the first dog, on wolf of wall street
y’all street kids strapped like car seats
never shop, but i maul geeks
split his shirt in half, leavin’ him salty
if it’s money, your man a chicken, f-ck ya rooster
get a lil’ b-tch a bandanna: punky brewster
no home, i’ll bring the camp in to get the tension
if the fire in the middle, the riddle creates suspension
suspicious
i’m vicious, my n-gg- vishiss
put on, a g need a hundred and three wishes
granted, you can’t rock wit’ this hype hypothesis
posse play possum
wash them p-ss-es, we wet cats
need a prophet to profit the saddest stories
no bull, they mad adore me
exit, think i’m kiddin’? left neckless
category is reckless, perfect driving record
drove you to h-ll
i’m licensed to show you the l’s
breathe

[verse 2: illmac]
live by the warriors’ motto, “f-ck the feds”
hattori hanzo sword to swallow
double-edged, god body, style probably more diablo (fire!)
straight up, cross the line, lay your wh-r–izontal
sorry for your mama, shots drop ya: caine’s 40 bottle (buck!)
hair-trigger, then the tortoise follow
sh-lls fallin’ and revolvin’ like forgiatos
uh, play the court staccato
pullin’ strings, portland capo
boss in california also
lsc, run the west, b.c. to the port in cabo
the tides turnin’, they wave-ride and get wigs split
50/50, we stay grindin’ and skate on ’em
beats bangin’, it’s gang violence, the snakes plottin’
go ahead, dig up dirt, then you’ll find some bodies: you grave-robbin’
don’t respect your principles: you bayside-ing
foolish students got that school of thought, ’til it get shot up like you mainlining
don’t need your credit, we don’t bank on it
leave us alone
you being deaded if you pay homage
west up!

[hook: illmac]
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do (what i gotta do)
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do
everybody talkin’, i don’t listen to ’em
homie, who the f-ck you talkin’ to? (f-ck you talkin’ to!?)
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do (f-ck everybody!)

[verse 3: b. dot]
first off, f-ck where you from, this is rbg
and this ain’t no western conference, my n-gg- – this lsc
watch yo’ feet when steppin’ to me
he’ll get tripped up like lsd
from the city of ppb
but i’m in the whip, wit’ a crip that be chuckin’ up them two c’s
for you mcs that cannot see
we bring it to you in 3-d like it’s imax – grab a seat
i know illmac, he a g who will chase you down in the street
you’ll get beat, and chase on the beat
this is heat
can’t measure degrees when it’s far hotter than celsius
squad comin’ to melt ya sh-t
burner burnin’ my pelvis, rock the world on some elvis sh-t
half of my thoughts is devilish
relish the fact that i’m balanced
i’m godly ’til you critique my wings, and get smacked wit’ a chalice
cup spilleth over
my disciples got rifles and shoot like guards from villanova
it’s the god, don’t mention hova
this is lsc, west costa nostra
b. dot the god, brag and boast
i brought a body bag for all you f-ckin’ posers
f-ck everybody

[verse 4: geechi gotti]
yeah, i f-ck ’em all with a magic johnson
magnum poppin’
one of the realest crips they have in compton
you not a shooter, then it’s nothin’ we can have in common
free the real, remember fightin’ over packs of ramen
you rhyming sh-t you don’t live will get you k!lled, sport
the average lifespan of gang-bangers? sh-t is real short
i seen n-gg-s get life for what they represent
it’s evident, the only thing i fear is evidence
god flow, sh-t hot like where the devil went
he prayed right before they k!lled him (bow!)
guess he was heaven-sent
nose full of angel dust, it got that heaven scent
disrespectful, i’ll chuck the hood up at the president
crip-walk in front of cardi, and then i spit on her
knock her out and get some real ‘migos to p-ss on her
i’m p-ssed off – don’t get me started on the industry
you fake thugs pay for protection, you ain’t in the streets
middle finger to ’em all like, “f-ck the enemies”
the epitome of if 2pac had a mini-me
i been a g
if it ain’t john, you can’t compare to gotti
mafia – other than that, f-ck everybody

[hook: illmac]
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do (what i gotta do)
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do
everybody talkin’, i don’t listen to ’em
homie, who the f-ck you talkin’ to? (f-ck you talkin’ to!?)
my att-tude is “f-ck everybody”
i’m just out here doin’ what i gotta do (f-ck everybody!)

[outro]
ch-ch-cha-cha-chase moore

- ruin your day lyrics

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