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letra de * ('a new kind of sexy' bonus track) - watsky

“i don’t want to brag, but
i spent so much time at the top
that i got caught for loitering

i insulated my house with swag
and got swag poisoning

the righteous path is like my waist:
real narrow
i sprint along it, pushing all my swagger
in a wheel barrow

but i’m over swagger
see these poser rappers
think they’re goblins but they’re goobers
so i gobble’em
you battle me, you’re gonna have a white boy problem!

and i guess that i should stop at nothing
now to rock’em, sock’em, knock’em dead
but i don’t want to waste my breath
i’ve got respect for oxygen
and i don’t want to walk a block in waka flocka’s moccasins

the heap of cr-ppy rap online’s colossal
it could topple, i don’t know why i bother to scoff at the debacle
but you’re so awful that i have to lol and rofl

you’re a lost dog, i’m a boss hog
and d-mn svelte
actually, um, i really need to hold my pants up
and i’d rather use the champ’s belt
or i’ll just go nudist in my human pelt
i mean, i think it’s super that you’re looking for a tutor
you could use the help
i’m wiser than my age
and so i plagiarize my future self

i’m not ashamed of intelligence
i came to the game with all relevant elements
a liquid flow so solid that i had to g-ssen’em
i go bananas just to boost my dosage of pot-ssium
to push it to the maximum
to pop my pecs and flex in the excellence

you know i get it
i’d be p-ssed off too if i got bested
by a thin, self-deprecating, lisping jew
but what’s-a boy to do?

i mean i only end my pieces so the audience can get closure
i go ham and it’s still kosher
i mean if you’re unsure if my boast or brag is a joke
i’ll try to let you know in subtle ways
my punchlines are lost baggage:
you should get’em in a couple days

but hey, there’s no cypher i won’t jump in
i’m liable to say somethin’
screw a stand-in, i do all my own stuntin’
no steroids or supplements
me in the game’s an odd sight, like
non-white republicans

herman cain’s, bobby jindal’s
i can’t explain it so i just
throw in some illuminati symbols
pop these simpletons like pimples
be very visionary
with a very busy world like richard scarry
while your picture’s next to ‘dingleberry’ in the dictionary

i don’t sling rocks, i bling lots
ask gringott’s
you should know me
i chucked homes like oe, od and go cold turkey
i’m the young, clean version of old dirty

you’re a toy

you’re a toy that’s slapped together, packed and sold from factories
that’s why it’s easy for me to play whack-a-mole with wack mcs
i’m the common factor linking 2pac, babe the blue ox, and the maccabees
in fact i snack on wack mcs like a blue box of mac and cheese.”

(backing track: ludacris – ‘go 2 sleep’ starts here)

these baby mcs all look hecka tuckered out
so i tuck ’em in or stick a sucker in these suckers’ mouths
i’m like “bucka bucka bucka” you can’t sit yet
and when you spit up, it’s like you learned to spit from dipset
i got a double-barrelled nerf gun and i’ll clap mine
when i go “brap” i’m sending rappers to nap time
sit on my lap, and by reciting your wack rhymes back
i send you to a sleep that’s so deep you flat-line
you’ve got a little tuft of hair but can’t afford a wig
which sucks because your head is disproportionately big
it’s a beacon of weakness, i can see it from sp-ce
jesus it’s freakish, but you’re no baby g*nius
you’re an average baby at best, a dumb baby at worst
i go “humm baby” and talk trash when i’m rounding first
these mcs are ticklish. you want a little sip?
you get hungry instead of h-rny when you see that nipple slip

- watsky

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