Mac Miller - Desperado lyrics

rate me

[Intro]

Uh, Chya, Uh, Uh

Dedicated too, this dedicated too

F-ck it

[Verse 1:]

Uh, I got a pocket full of posies

Some devil with a pitchfork keep talkin’ like he know me

I’m psychopathic, low key, my hyperactive dome piece

Get no sleep, ill as fuck, the hospitals seem so weak

I stood before an Angel as he told me bout the glory

Put me in a room of people, how the f-ck could I be lonely

I only get money, these lables tryna clone me

Uh, my thoughts get heavy, hit the ground and crack the concrete.

So, I try to keep em’ in my head

It’s sad to see when everything that you believe is dead

Word to Heavy D, and rest in peace to all that come and pass

Life is good sometimes, but it just doesn’t last

A bunch of tracks, you see this mic is like my punchin’ bag

Rock n’ Roll, drugs and cash, you softer than a bubble bath

Sucka ass mothafucka, muthafucka’s venom and

Doper than the shit that put Chris Tucker in Dead Presidents

Desert rhymes, homie, ridin’ beats, I’m on a camel

I’m way too hot to handle, life a beach, I brought my sandals

Haha, you want a war ? I got a lot of ammo

You ain’t a soldier cause you rockin’ cammo

Young Rambo, hundred million fans though

And I do it big, you a Ipod Nano

Fire on wax, look like I rock candles

Yeah you got a show, but you ain’t on my channel

That’s HBO b!tch, you gotta pay for that

Hahaha, your channels free

I’m gunna f-ckin’ kill you

Um, Imax’n shit motherf-cker

Yeah, suck my d!ck

[Verse 2:]

Hey, ayo, I’m bout to start gambilin’ with Ambien

I’m dutch smokin’, that’s a strike

But f-ck bowlin’, I could tear a pin of Maryland

See, I’m American, apparently it’s damagin’

To be in front of cameras in your underwear with Marilyn

Monroe, look at dumb hoes who want to much dough

And come close to have you straight trippin’ when you jump rope

Don’t rock the love boat, this business f-ckin’ cut throat

And it’s gunna crack is you just paint the wall with one coat

Rooms filled with blunt smoke, peep me through the fog

These rappers who be hatin’ probably need to get a job

See, me I’m with my squad, gettin’ money, livin’ comfortable

I know a couple hoes who model, but they ugly though

F-ck a toast, y’all is f-ckin’ broke, cut ya throat

Judgin’ me is nothin’ dope, boy you lyin’ under oath

God made the world, why did man make the scriptures?

And if he created Lennon, why’d he go and make a Hitler?

I could take a photo, but I’d rather paint a picture

Of the one Lawrence Fishburne, we’ll shoot up all you hipsters

I’m from Pittsburgh, that’s black and gold

If my skin gets filled up, I’mma tat my soul

Runnin’ out of paper, writin’ on my hand

Hundred thousand haters writin’ bout my jams

Want a number one independent album? I’m your man

I’mma hit Preme and leave you all right where you stand

[Outro:]

As layers of hell are falling

Is the grizzly reaper mowing?

Yes! The danger must be growing!

For the rowers keep on rowing!

And they're certainly not showing!

Any signs that they are slowing!

(screaming and laughter)

Thanks to Mr. Stephenson for correcting these lyrics