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dropkicks - training season lyrics

[intro: fat albert]
uhhh… training motherfucking season! its the misfits with them dropkicks for these side chicks like miguel and shit…
you reckless nigga, (laughs) you not ready
get em tempest, you fucking pussies… ha ha ha
fat albert ya’ll, snatch your macaroni necklace and shit
b-tch niggas uhh

[verse 1: king caexar]
drop kicks we’re getting parasitic with these ticks
shape-shifts, tuberculosis the way that he spits
preposterous gifts in the midst son to catch a gist
smooth moves creating bliss, feel my fucking myth
its the rawness, the flawless, your highness
touch of gold, midas, shaking up the scripts with the flips
its the king c, the gimili, getting likes simile, symmetry
hiding hunger like fat chicks with chin lifts
“ummm…huh? ‘yo what the fuck happened to the beat?!”
its nine fifty like bad b-tches with saggy tits (uh)
gp let em feel the slopes like derivatives
in the list checking em off with iron fists son
in the mist hitting them off with iron biffs (bloaw!)
king caexar the mind flipper, scale tipper
move quick shade cover, call me jack the ripper
the heart gripper watch em scatter slipper
its the big dipper in the stars with your fucking liver (ah!)
blessing b-tches with urine instead of powder
golden shower the king penetrating peach with the bowser
sniping targets hitting niggas with the mauser
ice cold bauer im feeding pregnant b-tches clam chowder

[hook : king caexar]
a wise man told me murder comes in triples
six in the digits, three in the numbers, it ripples
devils behind the bathroom stall, for every line that you snort and the money stashed behind the walls

[interlude: gp x king caexar]
king caexar:
again? what the fuck?

gp:
no no no its not that, its not that, like your verse, your verse was fucking sick, but i just..i don’t think you like lyrically attacked it

king caexar:
man what the fuck? get the fuck out of here nigga, you softer than cow nipples

gp:
just let me on the fucking track, (clears throat)” yo…

[verse 2: gp]

gp is the sicked-est, flow is the wickedest
split some shit, spit sick shit when i get a hit
i beat a b-tch put myself in the cl-t (laughs)
training season, baze , the kid and the king b-tch!
big thick chicks in slim fits and tight jeans
get stretched out, i’ll show her what the pipe means
please b-tch listen to me man you deaf as shit
(shut the fuck up!)
facebook rapper sk!lls poorer than the deficit
slapping pricks and b-tch niggas with estrogen
ghetto niggas with dope flows spreading like pathogens
all these niggas tripping, scribbling when i step in
aborting there verses like b-tches on contraception’s
go hard like erections (yeah!), my standards perfection (uh)
im k!lling like dexter so run like elections
have the beat molested, disturb it like a pedo
(hey tommy..come here)
you niggas faker than guidos, i pull slots just like casinos
i’m mesmerizing these niggas i’m fucking awesome
cheap but the price of my pain is high costing
flossing, telling these niggas like “you’re lost”
i am to rap what chris bosh is to an ostrich [interlude]
k!lling any beat i’m putting em in a coffin (done!)
b-tches going nuts when i cream like boston
murkin all them pretty boy f-ggots, they hurt and dying
raising they hands to the sky like a church choir
algorithms whenever i’m in my rhythm
pussy niggas hold themselves and start to cry when i hit em
(fucking babies)

[hook: king caexar]
a wise man told me murder comes in triples
six in the digits, three in the numbers, it ripples
devils behind the bathroom stall, for every line that you snort and the money stashed behind the walls

a wise man told me murder comes in triples
six in the digits, three in the numbers, it ripples
devils behind the bathroom stall, for every line that you snort and the money stashed behind the walls

[outro: fat albert]
yeah! you pussy niggas
h..here tempest hold my donuts
uh…yeah watch yo fucking backs
training motherfucking season and all that shit nigga…

king caexar:
yo what the fuck? don’t you dare come in here man, get the fuck out

gp:
fine…shit

- training season lyrics

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