Wordsmith?
Detail
Big Scarr
[Intro]
Woah, Frozone
Woah
[Verse]
Yeah, I hit your bitch at the hotel (At the hotel)
It’s giving wings with the Rotel (Rotel)
Spot got hit, now we trappin’ out the motel (Out the motel)
Big body, Maybach V12 driving like a Chevy (Woah, woah, I just need my space), every quarter make a fish tale (Skrrt)
And I got ‘bows, what’s a fish scale? Hit a nigga up, now they hollerin’ out, “Get well” (Oh well)
I’ma let it slide, he don’t see well, spraying in your car, that’s a Double R detail (Get ‘em up out of here)
And we got ‘bows on retail, yeah, they way chеaper if you tryna get a whole salе (Get ‘em up out of here)
This chain on my neck like a wishing well, cappin’ in your rap, nigga livin’ in the fairytale (Cap)
Mink fur on me, yeah, it came from a polar bear, jackin’ all trades, I ain’t playin’ fair (No)
Rich-ass nigga long way from the Wayfair, now I hit the mall buyin’ Moncler (Dope)
Take somethin’, nigga, I dare you, to these rap niggas I cannot compare (Uh-uh)
We done sold heroine right, nigga, we strapped (Yeah)
Nigga want smoke, you want war with the clan (Yeah)
Drip, water my neck like a faucet (Drip, splash)
High-speed the narcs with the Glock, I ain’t tossin’ (Brrt)
Dripped in high fashion, you know this sh** cost me (Yeah)
Really ‘bout action, these niggas just talkin’ (These niggas just talkin’, huh, bitch-ass nigga)
Get off of my blunt, the boy, he got me coughin’ (The boy got me coughin’)
Ask your homeboy how it feel in a coffin (How it feel in a coffin)
Pussy fired gang, leave his ass to the cross (Leave his ass to the cross)
That money good, but them bags gettin’ off (Yeah, yeah)
These niggas rats, tryna pay this sh** off
I got out the way, turned myself to a boss (Yeah), now I get on the beat and get paid just to walk (Just to walk)
I can’t reply to the rumors, they false (No)
If a opp die, they gon’ say it’s my fault (What?)
I creep, but I brag on the shit that I bought (Uh-uh)
I’m taxin’, yeah, bitch, I need ten just to talk (Yeah)
Nigga talk down on my name for the clout
I make it look easy, I’m the reason they rap (I’m the reason they rap)
Keep posted at the trap, get it in, get it out (Get it in, get it out)
Street ‘fore the industry, I can’t adapt (I can’t adapt)
These rap niggas lame, no, I can’t give ‘em dap (Yeah)
My lil’ bitch, she gangster, my Glock in her passion (My Glock in her passion)
Said I would dose with them Percs, I relapsed (I relapsed)
Get high off my mind ‘til my body collapse (My body collapse)
Don’t shoot out no car, we pull up and hop out (Hop out)
Classy and nasty, I slipped the ho out (Slipped the ho out)
Read to the plug, he told me, “No more droughts” (No more droughts)
If I’m on the stage, then the Glock on my car (The Glock on my car)
If I’m in her DM, my **** in her mouth (*** in her mouth)
I hit a opp BM, now he want some clout (Now he want some clout)
Reach by the AM, might put that ho out (Put that ho out)
You reach for this chain, we gon’ shoot up the crowd (We gon’ shoot up the crowd)
Speak on a wax, you get whacked just for runnin’ your mouth (Woah, woah), boy, don’t get whacked ‘bout no petty sh** (Woah)
Don’t think ‘cause I rap I won’t get with this sh** and bah-baow, might do a drill in my jewelry
Dracos and carbons, got choppers on choppers on choppers and my handgun got a coolin’ kit
Niggas still solid, but don’t know what to do with it, I got a point, but I ain’t provin’ it (I ain’t provin’ it, nah)
Lyricist?
A regular Oscar Hammerstein III.
… Wordsmith …
[Chorus: Big Scarr]
Woah, twenty-three shots like I’m Michael Jordan
Choke slam the pack like I’m Randy Orton
Get to the bread, give a f- what you niggas doin’
Break on a bitch, leave her feelings
The way that I walk on the beat can’t nobody do it
Birkin my bitch, change her attitude
Strapped up during a show, better think ‘fore you try to do it
Buss down the play, that’s an alley-oop
Switch hit his gut, now he gotta eat Campbell soup
No cap on the beat, this sh- factual
I put the gang on the map, now we national
If you ain’t from my side, then I’m taxin’ you
My bitch, she bad, got a body like Betty Boop
Can’t save her name, that’s my lil’ whoopty-whoop
She hate when I be telling lies ‘cause she know the truth…
That’s a real shame. A lot of money and contribution to society is to be found in the exciting career of wordsmithing.
My knife maker should switch from that boring old career.
Shame is, there is actually, no sarcasm, more room for wordsmithing in country music culture than there is for actual smithing.