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letra de bad habits - funkoars

[psychiatrist:]
alright people, we’re going to talk about bad habits
i used to have a bad habit
when i had a yeast infection where i scratched it continually
first person i want to talk about their bad habits
is you headlock, what have you got to say?

[verse 1: headlock]
a lot of people are like “headlock’s got issues”
f-ck that – i got a subscription and a full box of tissues
i’m not a character, i play one in my imagination
and before shaking hand you might want to consider vaccination
yeah i’m that dude who’s in elevators arguing with himself
because i don’t have time to talk to anyone else
any chick who sits down next to me when i’m drinking at bars
i cough in her face and tell her i think i have sars
bi-polar, eye disorder, talk so (shutup)
talk words without incident sincere {unclear rabble}
but that comes and goes, sort of like me
i don’t love you hoes so i jerk off then i leave
you don’t know bad habits ’til you’ve lived like me
walk a mile in my shoes, they suck and i want your nike’s
i guess the worst thing i do when i’m guesting on tracks
i scream headlock for a cut and make the rest of it whack

[psychiatrist:]
alright, i’m going to get myself a cut
mr suttersutter! [? ]

[verse 2: trials]
it’s the aussie s-x symbol, you better ask your mother
i’m like hip hop’s version of that dude dieter brummer
i’ve got a slight habit, girls call me vain
cause my brain’s a one-track mind made up of my face
there’s no complaints, ladies know that i’m good
and women faint when they check the size of the manhood
like “what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man! say it again now”
my s-x style is tight like liv tyler
quite the pimp type of guy to kiss like a
exact replica of gene simmons
these teach the women cop the br–ststroke like i was swimming
i sorta lie like the chicks that i say that i lay
on their backs on a day to day base
but honestly, i couldn’t set a pulse on fire
so signing off, mr trials: compulsive liar

[psychiatrist:]
don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re a strapping young liar
pressure, what do you have to say?

[verse 3: pressure]
i get so drunk i fall flat, landing hard on my chin
crack a r-t-rded grin, my eyes get misglazed, looking far from akin
to attain drunk, my thoughts are a fumble
i try to talk but i mumble, try to walk but i stumble
and when my mind gets as dirty as a pint of coopers
i delve down for a few rounds of pocket snooker
i like hogging loogers, picking plaque from my teeth
scratching my -rs-, farting, and long walks on the beach
so how about it girls – i’m an eligible bachelor
some guys will buy you flowers – i’m going to get drunk and rap for you
then stagger to the closest quarter, open my drawers
then spew before you claim he was a closed talker
see i got habits as bad like f-ggots that drag
make your stomach churn like r-t-rds having a sh-g
man, my rapping is sad (no doubt!)
and when i was at your house
i picked my nose and wiped it under your couch

[psychiatrist:]
i hope that wasn’t my couch, it was made by pakistani seventh-day adventists!

[verse 4: sesta]
i wish it was a bad habit, it’s an epidemic
i’m legging it for paramedics when given the seditive
you see i wish i could settle it but my best bet to get it severed from my neck
then i would get respected
but then i guess i’ll just take a breather and beat up the weak and feeble for evil
believing they could defeat me
i’d only take them on if they were smaller, with my mates and he’s?
so i don’t take drugs, i just use them as mics
used to act the way that i be so disregard what i say to you
my mind’s f-cked up, corrupted
my shirt’s tucked only when my b-tt’s sucked in, it must be the gluttony
from monday to sunday, i wanna go out like pun so catch me at the buffet
you see these hairy palms? they don’t mean no harm
in need of an eating companion cause i’m sick of my left arm

[psychiatrist:]
sesta if you’re hungry i’ll have marco prepare you a trifle

[verse 5: suffa]
i only smoke a pack on a good night
on a bad night i smoke two packs like suge knight[? ]
then when sat-rday comes it feels like a chimney just shattered my lungs
f-ck your patches and gums
they call me goldfinger, you should see
i got the illist hands from puffing on the 12 milligrams
goldfinger, my stare man it looks like a bin, stirring a curry with my bare hands
and my breath gets funky, i know hun
but if you don’t like this in a smoker, then just blow one
i smoke to the b-tt, i choke ’til it’s done
i dope smoker’s toke it right down to their thumb
and if i could quit, sh-t
i could save the dollars to get my lungs flushed by a mexican doctor
(achh he no speak english!) and he’s completely incompetent
and doing a procedure that’s band on six continents, bring out your dumb

[psychiatrist:]
bring out your dumb!? i’ll bring out a can of whoop–ss on you
you shouldn’t put people down
anyways, it’s been a really good session everyone
you’re very clever people
hopefully now you’ve got that out of your system you can address your problems

“doing your crib… break a sample like a bad habit”

[scratches:]
“bad habit”

- funkoars

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