Whatever

Just woke up
Another day another dollar that I ain't make
Another search for that one soul I can't hate
Can't think of a wrong turn I ain't take
Or think of a past bitch I ain't rape
Or at least think about it
Cause if you talk about it guess
You gotta be about it
At least that's what they used to tell
Me when I dreamed about it
The self-suppression and hate
Where would I be without it
Seems to be the only reason
I can script this shit
But fuck it I live this shit
So why not speak about hell
Seems I know it so well
They say you make the happy endings
To the stories you tell and that's bullshit
So if I got a range then
Maybe I'll get a bitch
Put hickeys over her neck instead
Of slitting her shit
Join a local church, stock bibles at the crib
Have a daughter and support her
At ballet recital gigs
Barbecues with neighbors
And a belly full of beer
9 to 5 every morning, mad cause I never lived
Nigga fuck that cause I would rather be
The nigga with the whole world mad at me
Than the faggot I'm not

Why the fuck you talking to me
Like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock
(it won't)
Well fuck you, and I hope you rot (croak)
Whatever, whatever, whatever
Why the fuck you talking to me
Like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock
(it won't) well fuck you and I hope you rot
(well, you're an asshole)
Whatever, whatever, whatever

Here's another clever rap from
Your favorite hipster faggot
The unfunny cunt, young rap Bob Saget
Who keeps a full house full of
Bitches like the Olsen twins
And lets them heroin binge until
They're flying off the hinge
I'm a sleaze bag, baby that's a known fact
Got a fetish for the black girls
That make their ass clap
But they don't fuck with me
My dick is extra medium
So I sit home alone, higher than some helium
No one was feeling him until
I threw a curve ball
A couple sticks of dynamite stuffed
Inside a nerf ball
How you making hit's swinging
With a wiffle bat
How the fuck you getting high
Puffing simple nickel sacks
Nickelback, fickle rap
I'm bringing Tommy Pickles back
Bitch fuck your kids, tuck them in
I think they need a little nap
I'm in your kitchen now
Puffin on a cigarette you can toss my salad
But don't forget the vinaigrette
I'm balsamic with Islamic fundamentalist
A real motherfucker catching Rex like Oedipus
Better warn you relatives when
I'm on the rampage
In a drunken half daze and I
Ain't touch a damn stage
But once I'm there I might come up live
And if her legs are opened
Up I might cum inside
Pussy fat like a welcome mat
Yelling Speaky welcome back
Leave it worn and leave it torn
Until I've had enough of that

Why the fuck you talking to me
Like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock
(it won't)
Well fuck you and I hope you rot (croak)
Whatever, whatever, whatever
Why the fuck you talking to me
Like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock
(it won't) well fuck you and I hope you rot
(well, you're an asshole)
Whatever, whatever, whatever