BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Goyslop gooning
- With starvin’ mad actors and jokes for the low down
- He did a "bad" job like an austrian spa town
- It brown, like a high mound of kangaroo dung in the court
- It stung the eyes and nose of suits and ties cryin’ “Tort!”
- Uh, he done gone to war, with slap happy daddies bora bora wood floors
- Gomorrah, casino wit aura, but tha house always wins til ya get kicked in the head and,
- Won’t explore yo corpse til dora get a close range, with your clappin’ four score rhymes,
- It done clinking like the slot machine change dimes,
- but he gyatt a list of crimes gon make you suck the lime,
- Wire, like the pirates of old days sayin’ “oh, that’s gay” with 5 dollar parlays in the may day
- Parade rockin’ till the day come and you livin’ on lame fame, it like youtube shorts
- With more money tied up than dubai’s ports
- It like the Dimes placed on digital ads, anti sentimental fads, gave a mad man lad,
- Excuses to go bad, uh.
- It done drinking like bud lite in yo 4 month old xitter account, brain damage
- It scrabble yo mind like yellow mellow on the algorithm cain’t stand it, dammit,
- Hammer it, blammer it, cammer uh, it that pic of a scandal slip, sandals ripped,
- Like the champion slides, the ice cream hair be wearin’ up on his profile
- Tung tung sahur got nothin on that low file folder unc be fillin’ with wood
- Goon, Goon, save fur’, in gramp’s little stash hood
- Done cheated on everything he got cept’ the slot machines
- Holla at em’ tell em’ he not rep sentin’ my sheen show,
- But it all gone, tell them he not comin’ back from the down low,
- Cause ai slop got unc in a chokehold wit’ three legged hoes and fake news foes
- But when the chips fall down and bank a’counts froze,
- Those who knows be scramblin’ to say no no,
- Hold yo phone in yo hand like a tablet, phablet,
- nabbed it with grab bags of hash codes and habits,
- goonin’ to rabbits, like chris chan you mad pickin’ scab lets,
- But they bleed, no sneed, no foenem to bring you down slow, digital crows,
- Pickin’, at the corpse that you laid,
- with snappy little suit and tie made of bits and bytes of dry loads,
- Ginger beer in Kashmir made partin’ words meaning less
- Fein and green FN aura done got mean slow deeds with no dress
- But vices done brought yo digital city to a slow mess
- Like red black juice it pom, knees, the fess it up made you pay the bee’s fees
- Wit no lease, and the amazing digital footprint you left no good
- No cap, under the hood it like a circus with no wood
- That under clap of yo hands made you a crack addict
- Formin’ habits, dag nabbits under the fap rackets
- AI slop done got unc in balls, squarely like four walls,
- Squarely in the balls, wit no way to recall
- Done played a ditty wit an emote like he in the lobby
- Played wit diddy and his oil on the screen it like a hobby
- Filled out the papers but won’t get no jobby jobby
- Cause them forms made unc scared as hell with no bell to ring and no way to tell
- Shower gel, in the cell, lube up the nubian big boys
- Like he back home goonin’ to dreamybull and the pee toys
- Unc done did a diddy deal wit the devil and reveled in hell wit a bezel,
- Round screens on his rig hooked up to a hard drive,
- Wit fur wood and diddy shit that only can play live
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