goth boy cl*t - schlizzler lyrics
(bartman)
d*ck tip, nip slip, rylan on my hitlist
drink p*ss,slit wrists; i’m mentally ill, can’t fix this
she says slurs and eats dirt. “bro trust me i can fix her.”
d*ck hurts, hitler, rhymin’ sh*t with schlizzler
i’m so sick and tired of hearing the word hype
i’ll beat your skull in with a f*cking lead pipe
meet me in the graveyard and it’s on sight
if you don’t have male genitals, you are not my f*cking type
(skit)
ayo, big*ups steverator
big*ups jim welch
i’ve been running around, living in people’s attics, man
i’m running into the forest; i’m eating centipedes in my trap house?
i need help man
schlizzy get in here!
(schlizzler)
i split her p*ssy open likе i’m motherf*cking moses
freeing all thesе people with this music i’m composing
get me an attorney, go call jeffrey adam rosen
my poetry’s unique, f*ck it, i don’t need a lawyer
f*ck gordon ramsey, i prefer alexis soyer
my dumbass might invest in some interactive brokers
i don’t have a life, i be f*cking wrinkly hookers
go on in the motel, then i might just go seduce her
she goes to take that wig off, it’s a dude, so i go run away
sprinting on the freeway, get ran over, like a dog that’s stray
seeing nasty b*tches has supposedly just turned me g*y
bored as f*cking h*ll, might just make a robot from my brain
(bartman)
i’m friends with the centipedes that live in my attic
i sniffed so much gasoline i’m seeing f*cking tv static
i’m gonna write a novel like former slave frederick douglas
i can’t find her cl*t, someone pass me a f*cking compass
i sell weed at the trap house, catch me in the backyard
blowing up bojangles with a bomb i bought at menards
b*tches call me pretty like i’m f*cking aphrodite
rolling fat ass blunts like “can you pass the lighty wighty.”
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