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wettworker - chris brown's fist lyrics

[wettworker]
f-ck religion and all their flawed, weird denizens
i take “dear god!” and i turn that sh-t to venison
take churches and i burn ’em like burzum
the wolf’s in this goat skin
shun the rules
run the jewels
shift the paradigm from these whack rappin’ cr-p artists sh-ttin’ pairs of rhymes
i spit fresh like i just brushed my t–th
shut your p-ssy mouth like i just hushed a queef
slayin’ punani
i’m bad company like weyland-yutani
when chief keef speaks he’s the illest
he’s the best
he could be the next wesley willis
have you seen my phone?
my lyrics on it are flawless
i’m not a xenophobe, i love lucy lawless
flow so heavy you’re gonna need a kotex
talkin’ more sh-t than germans having throat s-x
it’s me versus your verses about bluffing
artistic cancers
empty lyrics, your song’s about nothing:
george costanza stanzas
glisten like a cyst
what the pace
this clown’s p-ssed
d-ck’s in the face of your b-tch so much i should rename this sh-t “chris brown’s fist”

[young gross dog]
yeah
gorgeous
uh
it’s me

yo, what’s religion? rae’s verse on visionz
got six hundred and sixty-six inverted crucifixes
stunt with warlocks, save burning witches
now we watchin’ little christian b-tches give each other angel kisses
ain’t no molly dippin’, that’s where melancholy ended
predetermined genre bendin’ mean i’m probably different
beyond restriction, you -ssist in how i get it like you scotty pippen
give me 5 golden tickets
i need the fame so i can get the under 18
courtroom drama scene, endors-m-nts droppin’ me
ain’t no 2 chains, i got 4 bracelets
for this flock of ugly b-tches who can’t afford facelifts
recreatin’ the mona lisa topless
lay me down to sleep on top this bed of pizza boxes
photographers run a craigslist ad
and gang rape a model… the world’s sad

- wettworker lyrics

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