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letra de quay is your problem ii - justin grindley

[intro]
f-ck me! how has it already been half a decade of me being imperial valley’s best rapper alive? (you mean “worst?”)
i shall commemorate by being offensive (edgy boy)
i already know i’m going to regret this (you said that 5 years ago)
yeah n-gga, f-ck joe… (that n-gga chickened out this time)
uhh, mama, joe mama, f-ck joe mama, n-gga (bye then)
but hey, don’t let the loss get to you, camel toe
you don’t even have to storm the capitol
because you’ll be in there certifying your own opponent’s win
i think if you just refuse to do it, that’ll cancel it (grindley produces more heat than an incandescent bulb)
psst, i see dead people…casting votes (d-mn)
i still don’t like how 5 out of the 6 letters of your —– name are the same as that of this —- girl who went to my…never mind
(bro, quay is your problem?) “quay is my problem?” quay is your problem?
haha, i still got it (quay)

[verse 1]
i lose sleep about becoming a has-been cuz my sh-t is boring (conscious rapper)
so i become too mad (twomad) and hit the morphine (rip n-gga)
and once i’m deceased for fin, a guy will just be mourned through memes (am i a joke?)
all the more reason to try and score given (been single for how long?)

recent events, like the playoff of the dodgers season (freaking yankees)
or my hometown, the wildcats’ raping the spartans’ rear ends (b-town)
or donald trump finally taking the popular voting (landslide)
or jake paul reaming the ancient mike tyson (rigged)
the thing is, this girl plays for the wrong team (you missing out)
i mean, she’s f-cking — for the ———- (f-cking ——)
i’ll clarify quay these bars mean later in the song (it gets worse), mean…
while, i’m sidney sean rolling in my bicyclist-k!lling (bikebrains)

environment-k!lling, tiny-d-ck-compensating (yeehaw)
assault silverado -launch-, or tech n-gga in the lambo
hope it leaves some kids alive -honk- so i can give them bottles of
baby oil courtesy of “diddy” sean combs (you a .pdf)

if i’m sean paul reyes and you aim to be paul blart (freedom of press)
it will be a fatal mistake on your part (fafo)
like swinging a nissan sentra in cattle call park (learn how to drift)
walking down g and 2nd streets without a smallarm (boom)

or being an acorn that fell on a cop car (shots fired)
and that is shocking (stocking), like the metal shelves at walmart -shock- (ow)
’24 has been so fatuous, i named the bar/verse count after it (shut up, nerd)
i’ve been a bachelor of [bar]ology for a while, but now i think i’ve mastered it (senior release)

my debut single was quite the sh-t, eh? (yeah, it slapped on mute)

[hook 1]
i’ve yet to be hailed for my lyrics, quay is the vets’ problem? (where’s my flowers?)
or railed for my lyrics, quay is the critics’ problem? (zero)
not even jailed for my lyrics, quay is the cops’ problem? (oink oink)
let alone k!lled for my lyrics, quay is the opps’ problem? (pull up)
call me a gym membership, because i’m difficult to cancel (i’m committed)
i’ve got the pad on the pad, and i assault the pencil (it’s actually onenote)
at this point, i should be placed on a watchlist (do not approach)
until we figure out: quay is my problem? (quay is it?)

[verse 2]
why did that f-ggot liam payne die? (i dunno, why?) cuz he fell off! (pfft)
oh man, his fans grown up to be dyk-s gon be sh-llshocked (and i grew up with them)
they don’t call them paink!llers for nada (payne k!llers)
seems a 1/5 direction couldn’t handle a 1/5 of vodka (bro, bro, stop, i can’t)

but no, for real, i’m mangled by homie’s death (i need copium)
sad god didn’t take that ultra-f-ggot harry styles instead (even better, take all 5)
eh, at least he took that f-ggot nex benedict (packwatch)
and no, the s-x/gender distinction never existed (biology 101)

hey pancake rapper, take notes from kendrick on nuking (meet the macdonalds?)
an effeminate embarrassment to a genre essential to you (actually, that’s you, dave)
or from upchurch on dissing a soorry-ass canadian whose (eh)
supposed career is aboot fighting authoritarian rule (f-ck the system)

yet, buddy praises the “blue lives matter” terrorist group (bootl!ckers)
not to be a token, because f-ck token, but just like nickle (backpack rapper)
i still respect your grind, tom, though, am i right-wing? no (constitutionalist, baby)
now step in the booth, respond to that oldhead on youtube (lethal sucks, part 3)
nothing against my fellow valley emcees (best of the west coast)
i f-ck heavy with jodeci, but, just like a non-powerlifter, n-gga (i need my s-b-d)
f-ck the big 3! it’s just big grindley! (bum!)
they not like justin! they want my punch! (d-mn!)

if jodi is serious about wanting to be unalived (literally every song)
he precisely needs a wife named arias who keeps a knife (quicker than drugs)
and if i can’t acquire a spot as 805’s headliner (come on, b-town)
then i’ll drop sh-t, no diaper, that will make nate shyer (did i really just say this about a fellow gym lad?)

[hook 2]
can i please get hailed for my lyrics, quay is the vets’ problem? (who are you?)
or railed for my lyrics, quay is the critics’ problem? (you’re not controversial)
not even jailed for my lyrics, quay is the cops’ problem? (n0body’s offended)
let alone k!lled for my lyrics, quay is the opps’ problem? (why you talking to yourself?)

call me a gym membership, because i’m difficult to cancel (they really do be)
i’ve got the pad on the pad, and i assault the pencil (you don’t even write, though)
at this point, i should be placed on a watchlist (for thought crime?)
until we figure out: quay is my problem? (haha, haha, ha, ha)

[verse 3]
i embarrass my amigos more than that f-ggot raul ureña (latinx)
embarrasses calexico, though i’m a fan of his agenda (prolly getting fired for saying this)
and all my true gym lads are hoping crossfart do sink (they sure do stink)
further down as abyss (a biz) as lazar ðukić (rip bozo)

speaking of a fitness crisis, imagine losing your daughter (rest in power)
cuz teach was pushing her hard (let’s go, brandon!), maybe this time, when i say i’m
——– my —-, i do mean that kind of “——– my —-” -gunfire-
yeah, i sent those ——-, putting all the ——- on lock…

down (arrest me), so i can zoom-troll calls like during simpler times (4 years ago, man)
with that fictional virus, hey olatunji and paul (and mr b-st–lity)
let’s start the next plandemic with lunchly’s mold (and that sterility drink)
or i guess gaza protestors can also do the job (campers)

i love that my n-gga metro sampled (n-gga got good taste)
rodney o’s and joe cooley’s retro instrumental (again)
if anything is everlasting, it ain’t that metros-xual (he’s a pedo as well)
drake who i’m sure has since been mentally mangled (feels bad)

now, tying back to my previous libretto (please don’t)
i’m on the bench seeing 2 braindead ——- vegetables (——-)
but one thinks she’s a —–, should get a s-x change for a ——- (ok justin, you’re going too far)
and since losing our gym lad sergio in westmorland (keep hitting prs in heaven)

no more rear-wheel-drive scion in the rear parking (86 or brz)
just that —-, dent magnet, front-wheel-drive jalopy (you know the one)
ok, so i can’t make that —— like boys (conversion therapy)
but that’s ok, because her —-, my —— (justin, why the f-ck would you say that?)

wait, this is “quay is your problem,” we need an unnecessary fast rap part! (ho, ho, ho, ho)

[bridge]
oh, how do i cope with this, i know, jack off, moan to chappell roan, hey —–, let’s bone, straighten your mons pubis till you yack and groan (i’m actually serious)
ima steal your not-for-sale booty and pass it off as my own, yeah, receiving stolen property like they did to alex jones (f-ck the constitution, i guess)
thinking they the defecation, they not even the flatulence, n-ggas getting salty like the fans of megan thee stallion (pop star)
please free tory lanez so, this time, bro can aim for the femoral artery, man, this year, lots of n-ggas and n-gguettes deceased of late (or is it just me?)

rip, at least, to those with whom i f-cked, i’d say we add the f-cktard cheating wh0re ——- —— to that list to ease the pain (even god doesn’t want you around, —)
ok, i think i just created cause for feds to seize my bars, we got justin grindley on trial for threats before gta vi (hurry up, rockstar)
§ 11.402 25 cfr, but, just like the tesla cybertrash, that charge is a weak-ass frame (drop it like the tow hitch)
now to brainstorm outlandish sh-t for my ’25 bingo card, like a true merry christmas, i get…

[hook 3 (x1.5)]
hailed for my lyrics, quay is the vets’ problem? (i dunno)
or railed for my lyrics, quay is the critics’ problem? (quay is it?)
not even jailed for my lyrics, quay is the cops’ problem? (can’t say)
let alone k!lled for my lyrics, quay is the opps’ problem? (h-llo?)

call me a gym membership, because i’m difficult to cancel (cuz n0body cares to)
i’ve got the pad on the pad, and i assault the pencil (and it #metoo’d me)
at this point, i should be placed on a watchlist (bolo, bozos)
until we figure out: quay is whose problem? (justiiiiiiin!)

mispr-nounce “que?” ¿quay es su problema? (no sabo)
acorn on cop car? quay is its problem? (officer down)
—— ———? quay is quay’s problem? (no, for real)
getting away with this since ’19. quay the f-ck is y’all’s problem?

[ending]
oh, and i’m just playing, david and nathanial, you know i love you
dedicated to dad

- justin grindley

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