Lyrics CULT STATUS - JPEGMAFIA

One, two
One, two
Uh, one, two!

This is cult status, you dealin' with known attics
America made choppers, you beefin', we split yo' cabbage
Standin' next to the stars, it's funny, 'cause you a asterisk
When you break up with yo' hoe, we gon' pin that bitch to the mattress
Bitch niggas be thinkin' they jokes be hittin', they be strainin'
I can't be seen with you worm niggas, y'all need trainin'
Born into money, got more money, then start complainin'
Shoulda kept it online or end up in terminal condi'

Ay, Peg in this new bag, tell me who bad
Before we get wavy, let's start off with somethin' for durags
Ain't seen a barbershop in years, where Cube at?
And if I gotta push you to edge, you're gettin' lined up with a new tag, bitch

They send shots and act surprised when they get grazed
Run to the internet, they'll believe you, you'll get glazed
I seen yo' splits, bitch, shit talk don't pay
Unless you was good enough to shit-talk yo' way to Ye

The rush from provin' y'all wrong, nothin' above it
Looked at my family tree and saw sleep was my favorite cousin
My rewards, they don't come from awards, niggas is bored
My percentage over the number like QWERTY keyboards

How the fuck is niggas talkin' 'bout my fits ain't clean?
Pray to the almighty Sosa and to DJ Scream
Now, look, it's critical, I flip the sample like Bobby Digital
Money over bitches, 'cause bitches, they come in intervals

This is cult status, you dealin' with known attics
America made choppers, you beefin', we split yo' cabbage
Standin' next to the stars, it's funny, 'cause you a asterisk
When you break up with yo' hoe, we gon' pin that bitch to the mattress
Bitch niggas be thinkin' they jokes be hittin', they be strainin'
I can't be seen with you worm niggas, y'all need trainin'
Born into money, got more money, then start complainin'
Shoulda kept it online or end up in terminal condi'

Since Pitchfork fell off, the yuppies been goin' through it
Gossipin' like some bitches and playin' catch up in music
You rappin' like backpackers, don't sell no more, it's confusin'
The crack be hittin' like Whitney, I'm pistol-packin' in Houston

She caught me jerk eatin' at that Jamaican spot
Can't wait to pop, park a big body up in ya vacant lot
Best production, you don't say me? I tell a hater, "Stop"
But, when you El Presidente, niggas debate a lot

Uh, we on the road, we all the time, we outta line with it
I keep the switch up on the pistol for the crime business
Don't give a fuck about no time difference, for real
Uh, potato on the barrel, make 'em eat the hash with it
Brought in the dame to Roc-A-Fella, but I dashed with it
Pray to the Mafia, we tax different, for real