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letra de oil painting - lunar c

[verse 1: lunar c]
raw dog, c-ck up in your mink, b-tch
went to the clinic and tested positive for greatness
and not to be a racist
no, but f-ck you if you ain’t got me on your playlist
you white b-st-rd
car swerving at innocent bystanders
’cause i’m arguing with someone on facetime in sign language
cheng up in my nostril ’til i end up in a hostel
background’s grimy like i took a selfie in a brothel
mind of a true hustler
eyes covered with slices of cucumber
don’t call my phone, i gotta a new number
no rapper friends trying to get high with my two brothers
ring announcing in like michael and brucе buffer
talk sh-t? you gotta take the bеating
you man are dying on your asses like -n-l bleaching
tryin’ to get to mexico for cinco de mayo
cl!ck the onlyfans link in the bio
sound

[chorus]
stash the money in the wall
right behind an oil painting of me
and i don’t chase p-ssy anymore
no b-tch, you belong to the streets
sh-t is grimy, mind in the gutter
too cold like a british summer
i need that fire, had to hit hashfinger, bruh
i’m sick of these deadbeats like a single mother
[verse 2: tony d]
face the crowd and assail a cloud, and the ladies laugh
then in edwin, huaraches with the laces out
it’s bad news, let me break it down
boy, i’m in my bag and i bring it to your door like a paper rounds
red tops, head shot like media [?]
’cause i’m extra, extra, read all about it
punchlines to clever flows
want rhymes? they send for ton’
the poster boy, staple feature like centerfolds
the writing hand punches uncontrollably
script writ or hit rips and break a couple up like a dotary
same old tony d
that lowkey reveal that this style is still present as poetry
real sh-t, lockdown protester on some real sh-t
’cause i got to work and found out i’m still sick
my legend span forever, man
my name got a ring to it like a wedding band
yeah, it’s uncle ton’

[chorus]
stash the money in the wall
right behind an oil painting of me
and i don’t chase p-ssy anymore
no b-tch, you belong to the streets
sh-t is grimy, mind in the gutter
too cold like a british summer
i need that fire, had to hit hashfinger, bruh
i’m sick of these deadbeats like a single mother
[verse 3: shotty horroh]
wait, who’s that? twinnin’, twinnin’ 2pac
more hardcore than new jack
two straps in the new jack’
bazooka on the roof rack
if i used that, the gulag won’t bring you back
murder anyone who raps
boom bap or they do trap
tony, lunar and rooney would ruin anyone, true that
them louisville sluggers are on us, you don’t wanna do that
you can eat a few bats like you’d been to wuhan
yeah, squad sh-t, too gang
big strap, fire in my two hands like [?]
f-ck that, i don’t need to bang, i’m a new man
i’m the bag now, i just pass a man a few grand
yeah, hit the party straight from the car chase
police lights flashin’ like a [?]
footsteps near me make my heart race
i’m tryna dance but i’m carryin’ a sharp blade

- lunar c

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