Numbers

Y’all fuckers bore me Don’t wanna talk about mechanical royalties I wanna talk about orgies and forgery World Wars and some things more important Than some record stores pretending there’s only four dwarfs I’m a word’s worth, four score, some odd years ago I appeared like a miracle, maybe you didn’t hear me dog Hear me g, hit you with some shit you never heard before Heard before, Ash Roth, rap's own herbivore Lord of sore Sportsmanship, throw shit when I don’t win When things get grim, I’m Jim…Harbaugh, times are hard brah I’m tired of playing hard ball, bartered with a strong arm Tall broads, large bra, hard on, flaw, I ball like James Hardon Little off, chance he was gay, then he went straight Only pause for long when I stand at buffets Blonder than Dolly Parton that’s in a Pamela phase Stamina swate, handsome, my advantage is fate Haters gon’ hate but all they say is “damn it, he’s great” (Damn it, he’s great) Famished, need a sandwich to taste I like my ham with cheese and mayonnaise Mind your manners on dates (Standard procedure sheriff) Yeah, my plan is to wait, sip of Brandy while you standing Come and stand in my place, sham and embrace Let’s keeping it go merrily, listening, I’m terribly Little George chopping down the cherry tree, true There’s a moment in youth when growing ensues Not only are you growing but you show and improve Low and behoove, I’m sowing that my flowing in proof Yeah, merlowing ain’t the only thing that slowly improves