Mac Miller

Mac Miller - Pet Sounds lyrics

rate me

Feat. Sean Price


I wrote this under the influence of narcotics


Play them horns!

Young raspy God


Ah, why you fuckin up my good mood?

The Bimmer used but it look new

Your raps dry as over cooked food

My shit is kaboom

I took shrooms

Now I'm playin dodgeball in a crooked room

So address me as your superior

Mind on delirium, ice cold interior

Stirrin up the chaos, I'm the cause of the confusion

Young grown ass nuisance with the strength of 22 men

Puking all over your brand new accoutrements

Lucrative, assassin em but shoot to miss

I turn my body into Eucharist

Nail me to a crucifix

If I'm gon kill myself then I'ma do it big

Scalin Mount Vesuvius

We don't even know what bein human is

And what's a man when he loses wits?

Useless as the news at six

Fools mean nothin but a bunch of rotten and stupid kids


I wanna, I wanna punch you (punch you)

I wanna, wanna,

I wanna punch you (punch yo

I wanna, I wanna punch you in your fucking face


You live inside a computer

In 2014, a legend turn to rumor

Manuever throw the world in an Uber

Born to be a loser to the world, I'm just a tumor they’ll remove

If I would've done my schoolwork

I could've been an Oklahoma Sooner with a golden retriever I named Cooper

Part time at Kruger’s

Working on securin me and future the American dream

Big titty bitches guaranteed a spot on the team

Bust inside my pants, leave a spot on my jeans

Clean it up

Why pretty girls always mean to us

I'm the Godzilla of mess

Leave my house forgettin that I'm still in a dress

Gun sounds, gun sounds

(Hook x 2)


I'm worldwide but I smack clowns local

Gunshots, MOP background vocals

Fire in the hole of the designer of your clothes

On the up and up you fuckin' up, why you fuckin with those

Planet of the apes, the survival of the goons

I'm so dope, you could put the lighter on the spoon

I'm tightest with the tombs, need a verse and I write it son

Master this shit with no practice bitch, Al Iverson

Fuck the king of New York, with my presence they all peasants

The king is all talk

Whoever holdin the crown

Better pass that shit to me, P I'm holdin it down

Fuck if you the greatest

A lot of rappers got killed, fuck around and be the latest

Your bars warm, my shit smokin

I pitch Knicks at my pace, I'm Chris Copeland



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