[Intro: Mac Miller]
Bob's dementia
Chapter one
Now here lies a great man, a man of the people
A man of the people, people (Yeah, oh)
[Verse 1: Mac Miller]
Yeah, here he comes, it's the highly unprofessional, hypersexual intellectual
Fried my brain, now I've become a vegetable
Travel with a gang of weird lookin' extraterrestrials (Mi-mi-mi-mi)
They let me on their ship and made their bitches call me "General"
The dick quake could make a bitch shake like she got Parkinson's
You out there politickin', I'm studyin' Darwinism (God)
I keep some bars and hit 'em like a hard collision (Bang)
Don't fuck around, it's murder in this art exhibit
And I got the whole game on paralyzed 'cause my volume on amplified
You slow as a biracial bitch that's waitin' on her hair to dry (I don't wanna go yet)
Are you prepared to die? Burnin' this Ameri-fry
Where people that protect you are the ones that have you terrified
I only act this way 'cause my soul so broken
I'm the illest that you know, you a low-dose Motrin
Laryngitis, hepatitis, the AIDS virus
I guess that's what you get from bein' 'round a bunch of rat vaginas
And you (And you), you pussy I wouldn't fuck with a drunk dick
The day I came back from bein' hostage to the Russian mob
Missin' a finger and see my brother shot (Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa)
I'm comin' for your neck, so hide your head inside your mother's box (Motherfucker)
It still ain't cliche to say, "Fuck the cops" (No)
Let's try it (Fuck the cops)
'Cause I just smoked a bunch of rocks and walked around in just my socks
And made myself a birthday cake with caramel and butterscotch
[Bridge: Mac Miller, Hodgy Beats, Mac Miller & Hodgy Beats]
Tasty, tasty, that shit is tasty
This shit is tasty
Nigga, smoke
[Verse 2: Hodgy Beats]
We servin' faster than the Chinese
This life carries a price cheaper than clown feet
Like prostitutes with hoops and combined weaves
Who hates herself inside
So she sellin' her punani by umami
It's like my soul's inside the bowl
I hold it close, 'cause I don't know when it's my time to go
I'm blinded-fold, I hear my son laughin' and time is froze
And he knows it, lookin' at me like, "That's my pops," and I'm his goal, nigga
Motherfucker, I hit pockets, pickpockets
I'll beat you for your keys, bubblegum, and your bitch wallet
To his product, I'm a prodigy of a dead nigga
No name-droppin', scribin' when nobody was dead meat when they came flockin'
Brain doctorin', where I left my hard dates
Small shakes and small dates, the ones I only call late in parlay
You know what the dog say (Say), grab a bitch by the paw, ayy (Ayy)
Her name's Autumn, she happens to be fallin' on the wrong day
[Outro: Mac Miller, Hodgy Beats, Mac Miller & Hodgy Beats]
Nigga, tasty (Tasty), tasty
Tasty, that shit is tasty
That shit is tasty
Tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty
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