Lyrics High on Blues - Piché

Yeah (Bitch)

Bitch I′m Bill Bonney, y'all a bundle of kids
I am the pedal to the metal, y′all are slower than Lyft
Treating work like it's a Juul, like we all wanna quit
When I'm addicted to this shit, they call you bundle of sticks
And my mama tell me she just wish I′d stop vaping quick
I tell her vaping at a gas station′s safer than cigs, yeah
She don't really like my quips
But she don′t even know the other crazy shit I've did
(And I ain′t) I ain't never had a tutor tho
Astuter student, I ain′t never had a stupid dome
And I ain't never done a thing inside the studio
Put the studio into my home, I wake up, stretch, and do some flows
I'm a Renaissance Man, you more of a Mondrian, bland
You commenting often and offering no meat, it′s spam
So only my dogs follow me, bother me on the gram
I′m copping up the on the reams, you get homonym'ed up your pants

(God damn)
You ain′t nothing to a shooter
(Whatchu got in your hand)
All you got is talk, making rumors
(Is it loaded? Betchu hope it don't jam)
Wave a Luger, but you can′t hit 'em sooner
You oughta be on the dodge ′cause you the loser
(What's your plan)
You ain't nothing but a fraud, no excuse, do your job
Getting paid to do nothing but be a looter
(You ain′t a man)
You can hide behind the gun, but if you can′t even shoot it
Then what's a pistol if it don′t got a user (Useless)

Yeah
Brought a knife to the gunfight, I'm Montoya playing
I ain′t giving you my name, but I'll give you the hanging
These ain′t fair trials, got me really underrated
Bunch of rings on my hand, but this ain't Rugen this is Brady
I'm an outsider, golden boy to the bad guy
Bad decisions, big gulp, binging all the time
But dying ain′t much of a living, now I′m sipping
I ain't sniffing-Syd decisions that could make me lose my mind, yeah
Used to be up every single night
′Til 5, and I'm still up, but it used to be from lines
Now I′m working every day, y'all are doing 9-5′s
I'm that AM to AM, same time, different grind
Y'all are busy drinking and sleeping until it′s high noon
By that time I′ve multiplied your discography by two
And I ain't got the bitches tryna get me high on blue
And I ain′t getting high on blues, I ain't in the mood

(God damn)
You ain′t nothing to a shooter
(Whatchu got in your hand)
All you got is talk, making rumors
(Is it loaded? Betchu hope it don't jam)
Wave a Luger, but you can′t hit 'em sooner
You oughta be on the dodge 'cause you the loser
(What′s your plan)
You ain′t nothing but a fraud, no excuse, do your job
Getting paid to do nothing but be a looter
(You ain't a man)
You can hide behind the gun, but if you can′t even shoot it
Then what's a pistol if it don′t got a user (Useless)