Earl Sweatshirt - Couch lyrics

rate me

[Verse 1: Earl]

Uh, was always smartmouthed and quick-witted

But something was always missing like six digits

Lucky seven probably poppa

Little nigga so they picked on him, hassled him

Things changed when I hassled back, so

David hit the pavement with his grapple rap

Snapple fact: you rather wack

While I am popping like a snapping crack

So high you could see like Tallahass, the opposite of cataracts

Matter fact I am Farmer John milking cattle tracks

Action packed nipple squeezing, boy colder than sniffle season

Simple genius, go hard and spit bits of semen

So when the street is split

Don't act surprised, agree with it

The Gang of Wolves and creeps and Crips

Is deep as Dawson's Creek and shit

I pray they got gills either that or grab some floaties

I know I got skills, why you think I'm posted boasting

Bragging tell this faggots to stop nagging

Cause them Wolf Gang niggas threw them off the bandwagon like

[Verse 2: Tyler]

Uh, was always fucked up as shit with it

But I didn't cross the line until the bridge hit it... Troll

I got you niggas nervous like virgins flirting with Uncle Mervin

Fucking y'all with no lubricant go grab the detergent

I preach to demons at your church, now I'm the newest sermon

Wearing nothing but they fucking blast with their matching turban

I drive through white suburbans in the black Suburban swerving

Hitting curbs and blasting Erick Sermon drunk off English Bourbon

I'm stealing purses raping nurses I'm a quick consierge

And treat the beat like sanitized nazi pussies, I'm a German

I'm squirting while I'm masturbating and regurgitating

From eating Miley Cyrus salad pussy platter they were serving

My only purpose is to jerk it cause it has a curve

So bitches hate to do me like it's convict community service

This my Zombie Circus, you better get a fucking ticket

Odd Future Wolf Gang like they're filming Twilight in this bitch

[Verse 3: Earl]

I'm back on my sixty six six shit

Flowing like the blood out the competition's slit wrists

She lick it up, Dracula, then spit it back, back at ya

She mad as fuck, stuck in the back of a black Acura

Fed her acid now the duct tape quacks back at her

Hello Heather yellow feathers now you ain't laughing, huh

[Verse 4: Tyler]

Bitch you're barely breathing leaving on the back of the boat

While I fill you up with semen from the Wolf Gang team and

Flowing like the creampie inside of your daughter

Oughta eat the bitch with salt and wash it down with a gallon of water

I grab the saw and sawed of her arm and auctioned it

And dip her teeth in gold molds and flossed the shit

Fucking awesome spitting box of trees, got you niggas

Shaking like it's Parkinsons from the clitoris of Kelly Clarkson's dick

Ironing you niggas now it's time to start some shit

Drown your bitch in a tub of cum and throw a shark in it

Find a random abandoned garage and go to park in it

Find Earl lying on the burgundy carpet, pull my knife out, sharpen it

Stab him, put a arch on it, pour unleaded gas on him

Get the Zippo and spark the shit

Hop back in the van and then depart the bitch

Killed him on his own track, the faggot shouldn't have started it