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letra de this game sucks - jet thuman

this game sucks, kinda like this beat does
time to switch the game up. go back, press b cuz
these lame ducks all lined up? i hunt them; we eat up
my doggs in the gr-ss for that -ss and them zebras
survivors’re no liver with lessons from aretha
sack all these hacks if they can’t keep up
alley cats crack wise til the p-ssy get beat up
i’m so frank. west would try to be us
but that chance’s slimmer than hank hill’s urethra
come catch fade with a young dark caesar
if ya feel underpaid just throw them g’s up;
grove street money in the gta-trust
roam streets til they bust or they waste us

a future we created that’s so outrageous
no murder, black birds; that’s so raven
can’t you see beyond the words
who is paid to say them?
who is paid to explain? who we pay to relay them?
everybody playing’s either paying or evading
ammo over money in the multiplayer mayhem
ain’t it funny? these npcs think they’re playing
what’s the deal, guild seal? no red pills; i’m awakened
two 4lokos, six shots (am i mistaken?)
american clay idols, lost souls, belly aiken
mortal’s buy dirt. i guess the sun is satan’s

and, as long as we’re earthbound
i won’t be stuck home
rating all the worst sounds
rusty ventures on the trombone;
the album just went brown
when i touch tones phones get whipped out
and the tunes cross time zones
hollaback. no doubt. yo, holmes, smell ya later
here’s a letter to your sister, just bill the haters
sorry, mister. saturn’s rings ain’t enough to pay us
sleep on me if you want, death suggests you stay up
through a screen, darkly, constantly making my way up
grinding xp til my windows go foggy
rapping, fapping, bowl-packin’: three hobbies
harry’s house party with kid, play and dobby
la-di-da-di check it, sl!ck, you can call me wreck-it rick
gonna ralph; you make me sick. find me? change your hopes
even with your r-ct-m on my d-ck i’m still gary oak:
you just can’t catch ’em, ash. just ask
ashy elbows? that sh-t makes no cash

so, this game sucks, but it won’t be the last
i can switch it up: a swisha blunt full o’ gr-ss
a switchblade makes the cut. burn a chomp, never p-ss
i’m the biggest bully in my rockstar cl-ss
my doggs in the gr-ss for that -ss and them zebras
survivors’re no liver with lessons from aretha
sack all these hacks if they can’t keep up
alley cats crack wise til the p-ssy get beat up
i’m so frank. west would try to be us
but that chance’s slimmer than hank hill’s urethra
come catch fade with a young dark caesar
if ya feel underpaid just throw them g’s up;
grove street money in the gta-trust
roam streets til they bust or they waste us

- jet thuman

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