Hive

[Verse 1: Earl Sweatshirt]
Promise Heron I'll put my fist up, after I get my dick sucked
Quick buck, maybe a gold chain
With that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men
They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished
Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen
The description doesn't fit, if not a synonym of menace
Then forget it, in turn, these critics and interns
Admitting the shit spitted, just burn like six furnaces
Writ, it affixed, learning them digits
And simultaneously, dispelling one-trick-pony myths, isn't he?
One adolescent, fucking six-nigga energy
And crawling down 'Fax like a rich nigga centipede
Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash account
Stamp and shouting, thrashing
These niggas done let the Kraken out
Crack-a-lacking, like snap, crackle, popping your ammo off
Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga.

[Hook: Casey Veggies & Earl Sweatshirt]
'87 roof top, Bronson
Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic
Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up
Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose
Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop
Rolling with that flow swamp
Catch me over stove top
Rapping to that coke rock
Passionless in old Jive clothing, with them doors wide open
Dim the floor lights, focused
Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch.

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
From a city that's recession-hit
With stress niggas could flex metal with
Peddle to rake pennies in
Desolate testaments, trying to stay Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay pregnant
Breaking news: death's less important when the Lakers lose
It's lead in that baby food, heads try to make it through
Fish-netted legs for them eyes that she cater to
Ride dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to
So here I sit, eye in the pyramid
God spit it like it's truth serum in that beer and then
Disappear again, reappear bearded
On top of a lear, steering it into the kids' ear again
Provider of the backdrop music
For the crack rock user and the mascot Earl
Rawer than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop
Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the matchbox
Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder than?
Boy, oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and shit
Spitter of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit.

[Hook: Casey Veggies & Earl Sweatshirt]
87 roof top, Bronson
Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic
Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up
Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth looseBruh, I don't fuck with no cop
Rolling with that flow swamp
Catch me over stove top
Rapping to that coke rock
Passionless in old Jive clothing, with them doors wide open
Dim the floor lights, focused
Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch.

[Verse 3: Vince Staples]
Quit with all that tough talk, bruh
We know you niggas ain't about shit
Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz
Bulletproof outfits, weapons concealed
I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real
Selling thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is
Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids
Cheers, send chills up spines of fat bitches
After shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it
How they live and I live for money
Other words, I'm getting money
Lil Boy told me when it's time to ride
They'll send up for me
Ain't nobody scaring me
Niggas ain't prepared for heat
Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit
If this was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless
'94, would've had 'em walking down Death Row
First is when the best go, hate is what the rest do
Voice inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you"
So it's Raging Waters season
That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless
Everybody hard until it's only God they seeing
Kitten soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy
I don't believe it
But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the chrome
Heat your home like Southern California Gas, police pass
Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm with the heat drawn
Strapped up long as the chief for police armed
Raised where the beasts are, north of the Beach
A couple streets past Baby J, bony niggas spraying K's
Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court case
Here to save you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain.

[Spoken Outro: Casey Veggies]
Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch.