Текст песни Sus Freeestyle - Postmodern Picard

These lyrics got you running helter skelter
So go fuck yourself while I sip on a seltzer
Go run into a shed and find yourself shelter
Let's take it back to a time when the pelts were
Clothing, take out your nose ring, lets start the fight now
The bell goes ding and my fist goes pow
A couple bruises I'll endow, I'll make moves like chess
Knock you out, take your girl and feel her breasts
Fuck her then feed her water cress, buy her a new dress
Treat her better than you ever did, amigo
I'll shoot first and make your ass like Greedo
Or pull some Rick and Morty shit, turn you into a Cheeto
I had friends but they all don't remember me
Cause I'm a ghost, an apparition, they can't see me
I haunt all night, come bring your friends for a fright
It sparks a fight between you, makes your anger bright
I move through the realm, stalking the helm
To your space ship, cause I aim to overwhelm
All your tech systems so I can hack and steal your ship
Murder you in cold blood and throw you out the airlock
Summon a warlock or a witch, bitch, or maybe just a glock
Get rid of the blocks, I only play with Legos
Ill make you some breakfast, how about some Eggos?
It's like the ghost of a waffle, just the echos
If I did summon a witch, won't I get my three wishes?
Oh wait, that's a genie, let me check my dishes
For anything ancient, maybe I can use it for a spell
I'd say I'm going to hell but I'm doing pretty well
I wish I could pull of a beanie, oh shit that's a wish
I only have 2 more, and that's a bitch, meanie
Why would you count that, genie? Your lamp is teeny
I result to insults cause I have a small weeny
But nah that's a lie, I said it before
My dick's name is Godzilla, to suck is a chore
If you really wanted to, you could call me a whore
But I'm proud of it, it's not an insult, more
Like a compliment, it takes more than that to dent
My ego, it's steel plated, like armor and helmet
Its heaven sent cause I stole it from Zeus
It strikes lighting and it's loud like a goose
So don't tie that noose too loose, homie
Gonna bring it back like Hamilton did the Tonys
Except I hate to say that Lin is full of bologna
On the P.R. sitch, it's true, homie
He don't know what he saying but he ain't playing
The moral of the story is I'm a space ghost, Marty
So now ain't the time to host a party