Seven

Seven
I'd tell him to eat a dick quicker than Mexicans sprint over borders
I give a f*** like a quarter with 20 cent
At Hamptons with Fred Hampton relaxing at Happy Camper
It's the fuc*** financial aid at Hamptons wasn't relaxing, I'm taxing
"Fuck 'em all!"'s what I'm chanting
Don't complain I'm just ranting
F*** ranking, I'm the best, I'm the champion's chariot
I'm a liar like Carrey in Liar Liar
I'm dirtier than the sheets in the Marriott, Cable guy like Larry
Peter Pan in my youth, fuc*** fairies
I'm using my tooth bait to get that bitches teeth paste
F*** it, Odd Future some Nazis, black Nazis don't copy
We perfect, you sloppy, hotter than Saki Takei
F*** a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet
Screw you like a black teen on Judge Hatchett
Hang with thrashers and jackers
Drug dealers and crackers, AP students and slackers
I'm backwards like Jermaine Dupri in '93
Escaping from concentration camps with a fuc*** girl board and a ramp
That I ordered from CCS with some diamonds that's VVS
Like I went to Sierra Leone in a homecoming dress
With some matching pink panties, lipstick from my granny
Sup on my hat like that motherfuc*** friendly
White, red-headed bitch reminded me of Annie
She dino like my state of mind, so yeah she understand me
F*** You Bunch is here, never disrespect my family
That's for my little brother, sister, cousin and my auntie
Wasted fuc*** youth? All you old niggas antiques
We go skate, rape sluts and eat donuts from Randy
Bitches like Tia Landry watching Billy and Mandy
Motherfuck*** wanna be Odd but you can't be
Sit the f*** down all you old niggas stand me, faggot
I guess I got to be a fuc*** hand-me-down rapper
From Los Angee area anytime I'm fuc*** landing
F*** 2DopeBoyz and NahRight, shout out to Hype Track
Them motherfuck*** could never get rid of me
Guess I gotta do a fuc*** song with Dom Kennedy
Get these fuc*** hip hop bloggers to start feeling me
Because I'm seventeen, compose my own beats
Lyrically I'm dope enough to ass-fuck the dude who made nicotine
Maybe I should buy some Hundreds, wear some fuc*** skinny jeans
And follow in your footsteps like a motherfucking millipede
Centipede, make songs about Gucci and ciggaweed
Jerk with my freshmen like it's some motherfucking little league
No I'm not no fuc*** hipster, mister
No I'm not no fuc*** Kid Cudi, all my fuc*** fans love me
Collaboration hits for fans screaming f*** buddies, yo, yo
I'm driving in a stolen truck, and I'm probably fuc*** drunk
Wasted as f***, can't walk it out, DJ Unk
My nose is filled with coke and my license is revoked
(Shut the f*** up!) Who the f*** told me not to spoke?
F*** everybody here, everybody vanished, I'm managed
Hop off my dick and make a fuc*** sandwich
Everybody listening can suck my dick in Spanish
F*** you, faggot (fucking bastard)

Yeah, um, as you can probably tell from listening to this record
I was, I was probably angry, probably on my period
But um, I didn't mean to offend anyone, alright, I'm lying, OF