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letra de robotrippin' rat pack - flushing scotch

[intro]
flushing scotch
a f-ckin’ act of terrorism
this is music to k!ll prost-tutes to

[verse 1]
click clack, boom
c-min’ hard like teens in tube socks
homeboy, we in the boondocks
quarter on the pool table, couple for the jukebox
ain’t got your song, b-mp it on the boom box
get the people jumpin’ (jumpin’)
off the motherf-ckin’ rooftop (rooftop)
real talk, where your mom keep her scripts?
steal them sh-ts, and burn this b-tch down with everybody in it
i’m that rock n’ roll rorschach, b-tch
repertoire of lions that’ll tear your throat out
roadhouse, wiped clean, f-cker got the format
final cut his head off on the floor mat
this proverbial verbiage
sh-t’s perverted, but courteous
grab the keys and some bourbon, b-tch
drivin’ drunk, and i’m swervin’
k!ll your kid; he deserved it
trippin’ on shrooms, air duster
adderall day, atta-boy, motherf-cker
pull them panties to the side, c-nt and cocoa b-tter
no rubber, fist f-ck her when i uppercut her
hold up one godd-mn minute
mindless motherf-cker, mind your own business
send this sh-t back to ’86
so these cynics see that i ain’t finished
this is just the beginnin’
nice guy k!ller, pistol called kindness
lucy trip with a snake sittin’ spineless
k!ll your god like a pilate
i’m flyin’ back in time, time to die, f-ck the time is (bye-bye)
dumb it down, cause you dummies dumb as f-ck now
dumb the f-ck out, b-tch you are done now
low before, well you’re in the dumps now
by sundown, body is lyin’ in the dumpster

[bridge]
lyin’ in the dumpster
we don’t watch faces of death
naw, we f-ck b-tch’s faces to death

[hook]
we be that rowdy robotrippin’ rat pack
a bunch of sh-t talkers, we spit scat
flushing scotch, b-tch i ain’t pullin’ out
i got my motherf-ckin’ mask down, come in your house
(bounce, bounce, bounce, b-tch)

we be that rowdy robotrippin’ rat pack
a bunch of sh-t talkers, we spit scat
flushing scotch, b-tch i ain’t pullin’ out
i got my motherf-ckin’ mask down, come in your house
(bounce, bounce, bounce, b-tch)

we be that rowdy robotrippin’ rat pack
a bunch of sh-t talkers, we spit scat
flushing scotch, b-tch i ain’t pullin’ out
i got my mask down, motherf-ckin’ come in your house

b-tch
better get more complex security systems

[verse 2]
click clack, boom
f-ck that, necrophilia
pull back, lemme see you pop a wheelie, bruh
helium, raise it up into the ceilin’
colby jack off in your quesadilla
i’m kickin’ back, getting’ gunpowder and gas
blast a crowd of b-tches on their yoga mats
then i wonder back into the cabbage patch
with a batch of tabs and acid trip
compliments of the kimono
burnin’ b-tches, thunder clap in oklahoma
shape up, shake it off like epilepsy
stayin’ busy, cuttin’ kiddies from t-tties with a machete
listen—give her the d-ck nixon
p-ssy like a glove, oj simpson
made me c-m, then her -ss made me breakfast
plain and simple, lettuce no dressin’
pentagrams of cinnamon and m&m’s
snortin’ ritalin, pillagin’ their villages
takin’ women’s innocence, all positions, kid
wake your daughter early like it was christmas
kickin’ rocks, some kickin’ tunes to kick it to
sh-t to get you in the mood to kick a kitten, dude
sneak in rooms, cuttin’ everybody’s feedin’ tubes
poppin’ jack, all i need is the pickle juice (b-tch)
pop my collar, your bubble
this ain’t the bronx, jackie boy, but we rumble
b-tch, gets penetrated double, four knuckles deep
yeah, i’m bout to make that ho struggle
mask down (click clack), makin’ paper stack
watch them b-tches run, race to the dog tracks
k!llin’ kids, casper, i put him in the casket
shaq diesel, b-tch, break the basket

[outro]
flushing scotch
the f-ckin’ cough syrup coyote
finger bangin’ b-tches in h-ll
crush my cigarettes like your f-ckin’ dreams
christopher walken to your home, and break both of your f-ckin’ knees
leave your -ss like christopher reeves, b-tch
you think i got a motherf-ckin’ ego now
wait till my clothin’ line drops, b-tch
i’m the motherf-ckin’ . . . f-ckin’ one that calls the shots
colin bynes, aka the f-ckin’ cl-toris concierge

jason voorhees rookie card, b-tch
michael myers . . . nah, that’s not as good

- flushing scotch

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