chris webby – go fuck yourself (feat. chris webby) lyrics
can you stop saying f— all the time?
why don’t you go f-ck yourself?
f-ck you, how’s that?
i’ll eat pieces of sh-t like you for breakfast
go f-ck yourself
kiss my -ss
kiss his -ss
kiss your -ss
stupid b-st-rd i can’t f-cking believe you
i always h-t ’em with the hardcore
that raw triple x p-rn flow
now i’m blowin’ up
like c-ke in a wh-r-s noes
i don’t pay hookers
i just punch ’em in the torso
blow a load up on they t-ts
and leave ’em with the doors closed
lord knows i’m a crazy -ss savage
and they used to laugh at it
now they like “dagnabbit!”
webby droppin’ mother f-ckers like a bad habit
f-ckin’ like a jack rabbit
grammar with mathematics and black magic
speak wickedly leavin’ they knees jittery
if they beef with-uh-me
then they will leave lividly
hit ’em in the head
’til they stumble and see 6 of me
then grab the chainsaw
from the back of the jeep liberty
serving these punks
bring an entree to ya’
i’m a sick mother f-cker
ask sanjay gupta
maneuver like a puma
while i’m k!llin’ a track
i’m the best in the burbs
and the kid is back
why don’t you go f-ck yourself
f-cking get wrecked
can’t believe what i just heard
hey spider, here
this is for you
attaboy! i got respect for this kid
he’s got a lot of f-cking b-lls
good for you!
don’t take no sh-t off n-body
yeah, it’s the phantom of the opera
with the handle of the vodka
you can’t hold a candle to mufasa
spittin’ dope lava rockin’ no prada
wear a wife beater
while i’m c-nt-puntin’ ‘yo mama (what the f-ck?)
‘cuz webby fresher than a pack of certs
makin’ sure none of my compet-tion
cuz’ i break challengers
wanna be fake battlers
i’m drunk all day
with no shame, like frank gallagher
bowser on my bicep
baby i’m a villian
i’m a sick f-ck
usin’ plastic silverware to k!ll ’em
use a b-tter knife
cut ’em up for 3 days
and feed your body parts
to my bichon frise
i’m too sick for any radio dj
but still they turn it up
run it back, and replay
yeah, i guess i’m just a f-ckin’ nut case
so you can go f-ck yourself for f-ck sake
it doesn’t matter alright?
what’s the f-ckin’ matter with you?
what – what is the f-ckin’ matter with you?
what are you, stupid or what?
tommy, tommy, i’m kidding with you
what the f-ck are you doin’?
what are you, a f-ckin’ sick maniac?
how am i meant to know you’re kidding?
what you mean, you’re kidding?
you breaking my f-ckin’ b-lls?
i’m f-ckin’ kidding with you!
you f-ckin’ shoot the guy?
yeah, half these rappers turn soft
that is something that i’m not though
singing love songs
and sippin’ a macchiato
i’m grimey to the core
always steady with a hot flow
stay high rockin’ my shades like johnny bravo
god knows that i got a few screws loose
and my buzz on the web
is bigger than bruce bruce suits
you poppin’ rosé
while i’m crackin’ a fruit juice
and mixin’ it with absolut
until i spew puke
i’m a serial k!ller
webby preparing to k!ll ’em
i’m like bundy
and i’m not talkin’ married with children
webby smackin’ rap promoters
if they don’t have the cash they owe us
on top of my cheese
like lettuce, tomato, and capicola
jack and soda let me puff my piff
they never seen this rap sh-t
done like this
more often than not
they all love my sh-t
but if you’re one of ’em
that doesn’t you can suck my d-ck
what you got a problem with what i did anthony?
f-ckin’ rat anyway
his family’s all rats
he’ll grow up to be a rat
you stupid b-st-rd
i can’t f-ckin’ believe you
now, you’re gonna dig the f-ckin’ thing now
you’re gonna dig the hole
you’re gonna do it
i got no f-ckin’ lime. you’re gonna do it
who the f-ck cares?
i’ll dig the f-ckin’ hole
i don’t give a f-ck
what is it, the first hole i dug?
not the first time i dug a hole
i’ll f-ckin’ dig a hole
where are the shovels?