Текст песни Finkle Friday - ALCOHOLIKS

I walk into the club spin their heads around to look at me
I'm such a goddamn snack that you need a cookbook recipe

Throw my hat back, logo front, don't think less of me

Ah!
Ah!
Ah!
Ah!

(Yo)
Uh, My rhymes are epic, and the beats are tight, with your
Supbar bars
Don't be a fair fight, you wanna take the gamble? Then hey
Let's go
Enough preamble, time for the show
Maybe you think there is no one better than you
But if you beat me
I'll give you my games too. Hey DJ! Let the record spin
May the very
Best rappеr standing here win. (uh)

(The Winnеr, 18-Volt)
Goddamn youngsters and their rap music
What did you say grandpa? (hahaha)
I said "I don't care for your hip-hop."
Well what the fuck do you want us to do? Classical?
(I've had enough of you fucking youngsters
I fucking hate you.)
Oh, There he goes

Anyways

To be on my level, you gotta stand on a stool
Now listen up, bitch you're about to get schooled

Grab a bucket of water, cause I'm on fire
I'd say I can't rap, but then I'd be a liar

Your rhymes are cheap, mine are richer than gold
Your game's so dead, It's covered in mold
Bow down to me, I'm the king of rap
Beat is so boring, I'ma need a nap

You're down in last, I'm in first place!
My rhymes will blast you off, right off into space!
You look like my cousin, whom I really hate
I wouldn't even give you scraps off my plate
You're just a chump, I'm a superstar!

(Eh, no?)

You drive a piece of shit, how can you even call that a
Car?

(Ooh!)

Well- uh, you're ugly, so

(Yeah, good one.)

And at least my dad's not dead

(What the fuck? You can't say that!)

Yeah, bitch

Fuckin' asshole, you wanna fight?

Yeah, I do wanna fight bitch