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letra de us (thursday) - tuesday thru sunday

[verse 1: matt meyer lansky]
yo why the f-ck is you l!cking a reefer, bumping arethra, wearing a beater. chilling with beaners
you should be driving a beamer, listen to bieber, drinking some be-ers, l!cking the beaver
i be chilling with divas, rolling the pita , full of the reefer, smoking the cheeba, chilling with strippers i tell em meet’m
then they come he-ere, suck on my peter
i’m sipping on some damiana, smoking on some marijuana, stunting like the dali lama
rolling like barack obama, riding with a foxy mama, looking like a half man half rare ?
money ain’t a issue, d-mn i need a tissue, i just nutted in yo girl’s mouth and then she kissed you
what up though, ya dumb ho?
i’m f-cking dunking like ?
my tongue flow sharper than a cutco
dawg you wack as h-ll, if you was half as ill, then i would have to chill from leaving you pushing up daffodils
i got that getty green, get with me, get it to
b-tch my pockets fatter than a motherf-cking ?
you a herbivore, f-cking pie guy, gotcho girl saying betty bye bye in some thigh highs
got her in a position similar to doing muay tai, the milks already spilt, homey why cry?
i be in your shorty’s thorax, and you?
you be getting less attention than a doormat
hold that thought, while she blow matt off, as i floss in a porsche too small for rick ross
her and homey only 5/6, but his width is only merely less than 5/6th by a slight inch
and i just relapsed, look at my twitch, whole body shaking from my thighs to my eyelids
feeling colors, vibrant, i don’t know what i did, swimming in pyramids as i listen to a violin
i don’t know where my life is, feeling like this where life ends
outer body experience holier than what christ is
and now i know where christ lives, anytime i want i can go and sit right beside him
look at my eyes, you see the size of my pupils
you ain’t running sh-t yo you need that metamucil
and i don’t know about you bro i’m bouta be the talk of new york, no joe b-ttafuoco
i’mma ruffian like rufio, sniffing on some elmers glue, messing with a rubix cube while trying to get the best of you

[verse 2: robb bank$]
me and you, yo momma and yo cousins too, f-ck with my crew
in the booth, lights off, backshots to yo boo
she believe all my lies and tell you like it’s the truth
and i don’t really give a f-ck, n-gga what?
i flex, i stunt, make yo girl roll a blunt
sorry if i’m too blunt, or for putting up a front
but enough about me, lets just talk about..us
you lil b-tch!
f-ck with me…stop f-cking with me!

- tuesday thru sunday

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