[Cruger]
You're not the king of punchlines, you're the king of bad puns
Your jeans are too skinny to fit a handgun
He'd be to scared of the noise it makes even if he had one
Forget a gun, its like Temple Run
One flick of a finger would make this little man jump
So you met Fox through text battling, how gay are you both?
They bonding through a common interest of making up jokes
About ways they'll shout people when they blatantly don't
That's an online relationship as fake as Charron's
So your crews a bunch of fakers who met on a website
Why does no one clown them?
If that was now, Catfish could've done a episode about them
But there's no one like 'em
They're the best and so astounding; called the S.O.N.S. ‘cause they act like the Earth revolves around them
But if you ask me your writing is sloppy
A crew that came from the Internet
That ain't the right clique to copy
Your wear Polo ‘cause you're the size of a jockey
This the mid section of your tour so that's why you get bodied
Talking 'bout the guns that you bust like your bad guys
But that's something
That the S.O.N.S haven't touched, like tan lines
That's why they don't even get their facts right
They be talking 'bout AK-46's and MAC-9's
You say you're getting bitches, but the way you act might
Tell us you just go out with boys, like a stag night
I don't know why you rap like you do
You wear leather vests and have spiky shoes
So don't talk about guns, you ain't that type of dude
Act right, your swag's like the black guy from Blue
It looks like you're tryin' to go for the gay image
You should come out the closet
And your clothing should stay in it
When you buy your hoodie
You ain't suppose to cut off each sleeve
Leather outfits is where he blows his money weekly
Who the fuck wears that shit?! No one does, believe me
You be dressing fruity, like a coconut bikini
[Conceited]
What bitch in the right mind would ever give him drawers?
Last night Charlie Clips fucked his bitch raw
Then DNA came through and made that chick fall
She know I'm next to slide in, like a sim card, ‘cause this S.O.N. is next to be in your queen's spot; Prince Charles
I put her on her knees, baby get her lick on
Cru, you better tape that stupid bitch, ‘cause as soon as we crawl she got nailed, that's something that Cru should fix
But instead he stay chasing the cat, like Pepe le Pew
While I keep putting her in more positions
That look like wrestling moves
She lies to him, like, "No, Cruger
Let's just stay freinds and be cool.", but I should know that just kicking it is something that Freddy will do
That Desi will shoot, and like Pilate, leave your body stretched
For thinking you the wildest you can get a lot of TEC's
I'll start snapping, like paparazzi, I hope you got a vest
If I look at you and see that what you got is fresh
Then you can get capped and jacked, like Johnny Depp
Pull out that shotty next and pop the thing
I'll let it light up and ring, like a slot machine
AK's, AR's, Glocks and beams
My whole arsenal will start kicking, like your soccer team
Yes, I said "soccer", it's not "football"
Now, wait a minute, I know he's thinking
His super power rebuttal sense he has is tingling
He's like, "I'm better at rap, son, I'll sever this wack bum
You talk about our soccer teams
You're just jealous New York doesn't have one"
I ain't jealous of that one
Now, correction, this is what it'd look like
If Justin Beiber was a tweaker
On a bunch of reefer and some dimes of the crack
You look so much like Ellen DeGeneres
That the truth is there's no punchline for that
So if he ever say he'll spray, grip chromes and lift bones
This must be Bedrock
The only thing Fred pop is pebs and flint stones
So I see him, run up on him, let them shells speak
And start shooting at Cruger, like we on Elm Street