sailor george – no fucks given lyrics
[chorus]
i don‘t give a f-ck and i‘ma let it out my system
i don‘t give a f-ck and i‘ma let it out my system
(i don‘t give a f-ck about no motherf-cking system)
i don‘t give a f-ck and i‘ma let it out my system
[bridge]
‘cause i don‘t get what‘s the point of us sitting arround
when you motherf-ckers can‘t even spit out a sound
can i frown? (can i frown?)
can i shout? (can i shout?)
everybody is stuck in a mystery cloud
[verse 1]
what is up with all you people mad from similar sound
i know it‘s easy to be picky and i‘m not gonna judge
but this swerve of creativity is way too astounding
it‘s hard to write about the sh-t you‘re not really happy
yeah my bro told me
„all you rap is bout p-ssy
all you rap is bout women you can not get the juices from“
f-ck you dawg, it is not phase, or is it though…
whatever, let me feel complete, i cannot handle
borders, orders, h–rds of controllers
it‘s like we‘re -ssorted, you do it, you‘re murdered
i got it sorta, but it‘s hard for sure
making sh-t afloat when you got no roer
to be a caller is to do your thing, that‘s the point
you can‘t be conflicted whether this is you or not
you gotta have the willing to look towards the wh0r-
and yell louder than any other person for your soul
f-ck. you. fat. old. b-tch
(you‘re really rude but it‘s ok let‘s keep it cool uh)
[chorus]
i don‘t give a f-ck and i‘ma let it out my system
i don‘t give a f-ck and i‘ma let it out my system
i don‘t give a f-ck and i‘ma let it out my system
(i don’t give a f-ck)
[bridge]
all you gotta do is just give me a pistol
i‘ma write a whole epistle with a bullet, no missin‘
i‘ma shout (i‘ma shout)
real loud (real loud)
bout the things i care about, not the sh-t that you want
[verse 2]
isn‘t it funny, i‘m a rapper who just
doesn‘t want no action, i just
wanna rap about the love
and pitiful attraction
i‘m a manatee, lazily
wanna be fully free
check please check please
check please check please
out, i‘m out
lemme rap about
my socks if i wanna
my c-ck if i wanna
there‘s no f-cking gotta
there‘s just other bothers
you need to recover
i mean it my brother
my mucho brochacho
i ain‘t no pic-sso
on my cabeza
you ain‘t fantano
you listen and argue
with other people
for no reason
try and make your own opinion
tell me how to make it better
i‘ma make it sound so clever
i mean it‘s evident with people all around me
you cannot change my lyrics, that sh-t makes me happy
help make a better song, wanna be a kanye
but stop debating yo i won‘t leave my glory you
big. old. fat. sad. b-tch
(you‘re really rude but it‘s ok let‘s keep it cool uh)
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