Текст песни Hive - Earl Sweatshirt
Promise
Heron
I'll
put
my
fist
up
after
I
get
my
dick
sucked
Quick
buck,
maybe
a
gold
chain
With
that
fucking
flow
that
s-s-so
belittles
men
They
tentatively
tend
to
turn
and
go
when
I
am
finished
Stone
cold,
hardly
fucking
with
these
niggas,
nigga
listen
The
description
doesn't
fit,
if
not
a
synonym
of
menace,
then
forget
it
In
turn,
these
critics
and
interns
admitting
the
shit
spit
It
just
burn
like
six
furnaces
writ
it
It
affixed
learning
them
digits,
and
simultaneously
"Dispelling
one-trick-pony
myths,
isn't
he?"
One
adolescent,
fucking
six-nigga
energy
And
crawling
down
fax
like
a
rich
nigga
centipede
Crack
ceramic
and
slap
a
hand
out
of
cash
account
Stamp
and
shouting,
thrashing,
these
niggas
done
let
the
Kraken
out
Crack-a-lackin',
like
snap,
crackle,
poppin'
your
ammo
off
Hide
your
face,
and
throw
your
flannels
off,
Sweatshirt,
nigga
(Sweatshirt,
nigga)
'87
roof
top,
Bronson
Whipping
hoopties
tryna
boost
raw
chronic
(Brutus
in
that
booth,
double
scoop,
hock
vomit
up)
(Sub
rocking,
thud
knocking
niggas
teeth
loose)
Bruh,
I
don't
fuck
with
no
cop
(Rolling
with
that
flow
swamp)
Catch
me
over
stove
top
(Rapping
to
that
coke
rock)
(Passionless
in
old
Jive
clothing
With
them
doors
wide
open)
(Dim
the
floor
lights,
focused)
Like
it's
nothing,
cause
it's
nothing,
bitch
From
a
city
that's
recession-hit
With
stress
niggas
could
flex
metal
with,
peddle
to
rake
pennies
in
Desolate
testaments
trying
to
stay
Jekyll-ish
But
most
niggas
Hyde,
and
Brenda
just
stay
pregnant
Breaking
news:
death's
less
important
when
the
Lakers
lose
There's
lead
in
that
baby
food,
heads
try
to
make
it
through
Fish-netted
legs
for
them
eyes
that
she
cater
to
Ride
dirty
as
the
fucking
sky
that
you
praying
to
So
here
I
sit,
eye
in
the
pyramid
God
spit
it
like
it's
truth
serum
in
that
beer
and
then
Disappear
again,
reappear
bearded
On
top
of
a
lear,
steering
it
into
the
kids'
ear
again
Provider
of
the
backdrop
music
For
the
crack
rock
user
and
the
mascot,
Earl
Rawer
than
the
skinned
knee
cap
on
the
blacktop
Salivary
glands,
lighter
fluid
for
the
matchbox
Striking,
wait,
wait,
who
the
fuck
you
badder
than?
Boy
oh
boy,
I'm
bad
as
burnt
pollo
off
the
grill
and
shit
Spitter
of
the
Little
Nick,
nimble,
rickrolling
Bitch
niggas
pick
litter,
piff-blower,
plus
I
pillage
shit
'87
roof
top,
Bronson
Whipping
hoopties
tryna
boost
raw
chronic
(Brutus
in
that
booth,
double
scoop,
hock
vomit
up)
(Sub
rocking,
thud
knocking
niggas
teeth
loose)
Bruh,
I
don't
fuck
with
no
cop
(Rolling
with
that
flow
swamp)
Catch
me
over
stove
top
(Rapping
to
that
coke
rock)
(Passionless
in
old
Jive
clothing
With
them
doors
wide
open)
(Dim
the
floor
lights,
focused)
Like
it's
nothing,
cause
it's
nothing,
bitch
Quit
with
all
that
tough
talk,
bruh,
we
know
you
niggas
ain't
about
shit
Come
around,
we
gun
'em
down,
bodies
piled,
Auschwitz
Bulletproof
outfits,
weapons
concealed
I'm
ready
to
kill,
so
test
it,
all
my
weapons
is
real
Selling
thizz,
couldn't
tell
him
what
the
recipe
is
Got
'em
wishing
that
they
never
gave
these
weapons
to
kids,
cheers
Send
chills
up
spines
of
fat
bitches
after
Shows
throwing
out
sandwiches,
niggas
get
it
how
they
Live
and
I
live
for
money,
other
words,
I'm
getting
money
Little
boy
told
me
when
it's
time
to
ride,
they'll
send
them
for
me
Ain't
nobody
scaring
me,
niggas
ain't
prepared
for
heat
Tools
hit
like
pool
sticks,
the
way
I
cue
shit
If
this
was
'88,
I
would
have
signed
to
Ruthless
Nine-four,
would've
had
them
walking
down
Death
Row
First
is
when
the
best
go,
hate
is
what
the
rest
do
Voice
inside
my
head
told
me,
"Wet
'em
if
they
test
you"
So
it's
Raging
Waters
season
That
yomper
big
as
Larry
Johnson,
leave
your
momma
seedless
Everybody
hard
until
it's
only
God
they
seeing
Kittens
soft
but
in
they
songs
be
trapping
hard
as
Jeezy,
I
don't
believe
it
But
to
each
his
own,
I
ain't
tripping
long
as
I
can
reach
the
chrome
Heat
your
home
like
Southern
California
Gas,
police
pass
Tell
'em
"Free
Smalls,"
off
Palm
with
the
heat
drawn
Strapped
up
long
as
the
chief
for
police
armed
Raised
where
the
beasts
are,
north
of
the
Beach
A
couple
streets
past
Baby
J,
bony
niggas
spraying
Ks
Ruger
with
the
pork
face,
Jewish
for
the
court
case
Here
to
save
you
niggas
from
the
sorbet,
Coldchain
Like
it's
nothing,
cause
it's
nothing,
bitch
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