ganja jesus – lynch/windchime lyrics
[part 1: lynch]
verse 1:
got these drugs f-cking with my mind again
got me talking out of line again
got me talking on the same sh-t again
got me feeling like the sh-t again
i’m saying f-ck rhyme flows and schemes
my only scheme is to make white p-ssy scream
as that f-cking beat drops
if tyler can make a quarter mil selling socks
maybe i can make diamonds out of rocks
and rock em tighter than this offbeat flow i’m speaking in before i let the drum roll
verse 2:
hear that heartbeat louder than these c0ke heads with tourette’s
reaching for her heart said she got cardiac arrest
chill little mama i’m just tryna palm your breast
underneath that denim vest
you rocking wu tang shirts but can’t tell me bout inspectah deck
wow i’m off as sh-t
let me get back on it
let me contemplate regrets
i’m f-cking with these white girls smoking all of dem cigarettes
tryna nut on -ssets in the back of her daddy’s corvette
and in a minute she’ll soon be consuming my navy cadets
verse 3:
spit sh-t worth more than the clothes ben got feeling thrifty
nastier than a budnick in a white people activities
name dropping obscenities got the headshots on kennedy
jeopardy catogory, top rapper and it’s mr g
i’m rapping like an olzenak or a f-cking c-murder
causing random beef coughing micky d hamburgers
but f-ck a beef when your compet-tions act religiously vegan
plus the score is uneven so f-ck a rhyme
[part 2: windchime]
got that mangekyou in my third eye my visions kinda black
broadway and myrtle, 50 shades darker than my brand of cognac
(yawk yawk yawk yawk)
i’m schoolboy q missing h-lla stacks
praise be to ganesha wordplay for days fat like arethra’s rack
fat like the raws i’m twisting on akira’s -ss crack
fat like the n-gga rolling round inside that maybach
fat like the lips on an odd future spitter
fat like the gut on that lemonade rapping n-gga
i’m that blood that christ mustered on all them splinters
i’m sh-t you despise, the shiver in minnesota’s winter
hashtag i ain’t sh-t
hashtag i can’t spit
hashtag i got attention for using terms only on the twit
ol chance the rapper looking -ss
got no award made out of br-ss
got no cash to spend on gr-ss
but everyday i’m smoking recording and skipping cl-ss
brain slow as mol-ss-es, lungs full of rez and ashes
t–th getting gritty from angry gnashes
fist getting bl–dy from all these gashes
yet to hit my pinnacle, but i’m feeling like i’m c-ssius
dribble jail cells to the m-sses f-ck white people n-gga fascist
fashionist word to my n-gga du oh wait i mean naf simons
can’t mess with corny gringos but i’m tryna f-ck their women
words toxic like the sea of j-pan
or when i exhale that cann-abis
miss b-tch we don’t f-ck with mids or even cat p-ss
sour by the hour and my watch is out of power
got 12 hands on every number i’m never quiting on green flowers
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