Tabby – Cranston (White Trash Album)

Tabby – Cranston (White Trash Album)

[Verse]
(Who the fuck is this guy?)
(Everybody, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up)
I’m that cracker with the scraggly beard (okay)
Glazed corneas matching a matador’s handkerchief (okay)
Stork who bore these adorable busters received
Fully charged megabuster sauced for supper, scrumptious
Buddy, we cutting your set short with sword swing from Voorhees
Before you make the OGs go "oh gees"
Please, ya’ll the cream of the crop? More like the filling of zits
Gifted as shit
My lines Keanu’s seen in green tint
Achoo (bless you)
Why do he care when mucus airborne?
So fucked for dollars, caught wallet whacking off to Dare Dorm (okay)
I’m in rare form, got holographic skin
Don’t care for thirsty bitches taking swigs of fella’s styles
(Yo, pass me one too)
I’m taking swings with dusters dunked in lemon lime
Catch a Sprite from the most feisty white since Federline
Now your man’s got booboo
Fist pressed that square’s face in like Bandicoot’s move
That cracker stays a modest emcee
Besides the braggadocio and getting swamped in pussy
Delete beef with foes with the Chrome history
Miyagi plucking bugs, I’m Daniel Besting his reach (okay)
Dipping toes in wonky flows
His opponents solely stroke in quarter notes
This kitten sticking out like cowlick from crowd (uh-huh)
Of fickle dimwits spitting fodder cows would snicker ’bout (uh-huh)
Patience short as corgi limbs
For poorly spitted, dorky quips, really now?
Dive in headfirst like Michael
Swim with vipers
Cobra Kai kicking cyphers
Double-X-L sweating like Killer Mike’s shirt (oh shit)
Jonesin’ need to blaze
Blowing donuts like pigs that would fire up Dunkin’
If frosting wasn’t lighter
Field got fuckers saying "real" before larp starts
Katana dice foam bows apart, then go for heart
Like Hardee’s combo with ricin sauce out of Heisenberg’s cabinet
‘Cause motherfucker, I am not having it
I’m that hipster who’s lips coax a cinder to light (light)
His moves cripple Richter, whoa, big words you tyke (tyke)
The kid’s foes all elbows, fists curl like prom night (night)
Italian and Irish, both sides of speakeasies
My hair thick and slick, back up fuckboy, G-Eazy
No name will name drop till they drop; this is V-Day
These Tommys rip coats too clothes up for 4th Yeezy (season, Jesus)
My poetry will leave you speechless
16’s with ease
Conscience shit, sometimes ignant
Best bars look like I gave listening to a-listers (really?)
Spit lyrics cold as dude who stowed Buscemi whole
To get chopped like I smoked raw to roach (who the fuck is this dude?)
I’m Poe in office, haunted by phonics (okay)
Let’s be honest here, ya’ll getting offed by a novice (okay)
Get pickets for this .ZIP file snap picture, Mac’s getting first virus
Hold cellular regular to pen zip up papyrus?
Odor from the zip like split open papayas
Rinse, repeat, recycle rappers .GIFs rocking these mics now?
Jif’s what they spreading for fans acting like Fido
Darkest on my mind, outside so albino (ayy)
She swallow white like the meth game (ayy)
Got skills of Abella, but never giving my dick breaks (ayy)
Go doggie, palm her cheeks like Macaulay, take spliff drag (ayy)
She twerk it while I work in the last hit for this tape (ayy)
The last Pac drowned in DatPiff
Last cop laughed when cam glitched (oh)
One shot got daughters dadless
Squad goals 16 large bought McDonald’s (oh shit)
Glock’s full, 5-0 stay famished (yo, what the fuck just happened?)
Same number on my SPF, rays got Irwin, pale stay the safe pigment (what? The fuck that mean?)
Sweat drop down, froze to the ground, gather ’round
Feel out what the braille says, bitch
(Yo, hold on, what the fuck just happened?)
(You just got me so hyped and now I’m just fucking sad)
(Fuck you)

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