BBC Lyrics – A1TH
Singer: A1TH
Title: BBC
I’m a youtube rapper, rhymezone every day (uh-huh)
Jean baptiste, pierre antoine de monet, ho (yup)
Talking sh#t to me, you get clocked in your jawbone (yeah, what?)
I don’t got a strap, i got a b and then a call home (ayo)
Uh, i beat the 5’1″ allegations
Take your music passion, consider reallocation (please, do it)
Your sh#t is garbage, boy, if you didn’t receive the message (do it)
Piecing you up and i hit the griddy, then i leave the session (〈.?.〉)
You throwing hits out likе the ravens, they ain’t caught, boy (huh?)
Uh, i hеar your sh#t, i turn it off, boy (yeah, uh)
The mcgriddles’ overrated, they ain’t hot, boy (huh?)
You’re always talking ’bout me, like, please get off of my c***, boy (please)
Hollow tips are gonna send you in reverberation (yeah)
Met up with your female, we engaged in fornication (uh-huh)
Walkin’ over you, your face is basically stored in the pavement
Saying that you’re up next, um, ho, i’m still busy waiting
Uh!
Only dapping up my homies, either way, you’ll still be getting clapped
I feel my rapping worthy by the way i’m smokin’ on yo ash
Gots caps stuck on my head, but i stay spitting the truth
I feel like the king, they call me luther, i pull up and start a movement
Boy, i’m going stupid, in my rapping bag, but some days, i’m producing
Brodie stay inside, i’m in the heat, i need some extra cooling
And my #ss just fly to school, they’ll never catch your boy commuting
Skillful, how i spin the block like i was hooping (yo, i ball)
Eyes thin, but the money thick (for real)
Catch these bars cold, way i’m on the mic and dummy sick
Brodie set you up for failure like a lucky pick, yeah
Crazy what y’all do for unfunny clicks (please get off the internet)
I’m living loco, y’all living local (huh?)
I’m ’bout to turn up ad-lib vocals, so y’all hear me normal (what?)
Boy, i feel like king, watch me roam, man, like constantinople (yeah, yeah)
How the f#ck do i keep getting all these opals? (what the f#ck?)
b#tch, i’m back up on this rapping sh#t, like moms on christmas day
Your yesmen lie to you like moms and santa, talent’s fake
Killin’ beats like leonard hill, might dump their bodies in the lake
Every time i get up on a beat, i kill it, that shit’s cake
Rollin’ random, going up, that shit’s my paradise (pair of dice)
Global warming on the mic, but my wrist is iced (wrist is iced)
Millennials tryna be us, they think they funny, right?
Talkin’ sh#t, but he’ll millennial pause when i’m in his sight
You cooking with rhymezone, b#tch, i know you don’t know the word pallidly
Not on waverly place, but when i cook, i do this sh#t magically
They hatin’ ’til they hear the heat, i know they cannot fathom me (i’m a hater)
They hatin’ on the come up, they can count to three and suck on deez
You need to get a job, your local mcdonald’s is hiring
Get off the mic and flip some burgers, sh#t is tiring (you need a job)
This ain’t it, this is trash, what you want?
They need to take your mic and keep that sh#t for ransom (please don’t give that sh#t back)
Yeah
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Lyrics A1TH – BBC
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