Tapas

[Verse 1: Action Bronson]

Yeah my sole purpose/Long hair, speak Turkish

Twisted sisters out like the UniverSoul Circus

About to cop the crib furnished

Wood burning brick oven shit with the furnace

Quattro fromage

Big plate look like a lobster collage

I'm on the art and the food scene

Fuck rap, laying back, eating poutine

Matter of fact, couple raps will make a coupe lean

While you see me in the shorts all weather

Whether Puerto rica bitches chilling on the boardwalk

Rockaway smelling like Georgi

Ready for orgies, slightly retarded

Breading the porgy

20 seconds dead in the forty

All this money to be gotten

Hailin' from the rotten

Scotch make it neat, no socks on the feet

When I'm stepping the loafer Creamy like the robiola

Guaranteed I'm getting box like an old controller

Baby momma catching cases

High speed chases

Fiends rocking the ID bracelets

You only live once, so fuck if I'mma waste it

I'm in France, stepping on grapes, you can taste it

Yeah, make cheese like the fromagia

Tatted chest cover pain wash the scars

Daddy disapprove of my life just like I'm Marvin Gaye

Keep the Dodge, I want the '87 Saab in gray

[Verse 2]

Stuff a shorty like the man a gut

Light tan on the shoe like banana nut

Strong odor off the weed like your grandma's butt

No attempt to disrespect, but my grandma blunt

But I'm known to eat expensive lunches

From the farm right to the table

Aired straight right to the plate I doubt you could relate

Figs at the peak of their ripeness

Money off this music, motherfucker I like this

So cut the check

[Verse 3]

Ayo, the kush get flipped to a swan origami

Floating in the water, north of North Dakota

Dip to Barcelona Algeria connection

Pussy like a leather jacket

Been to hell and back

They tried to sell me back, but they couldn't

Hookers by the Ho-Jo chillen with Doc Gooden

“tapas up for grabs so fuck it, then why wouldn’t

Bronson be the one coming through with the gold belt