[Intro]

I need lots, and lots, and lots

And lots, and lots, and lots, and lots

And lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots’n

Lalalalalalacoughcough

[Verse 1]

Hop in ’94 Accord

Tight fits, narrow cuffs, vision field

Wipe away my problems, swish, swish, all these bugs on my windshield

Wheel crunching from knuck' grips, I need an ounce more-more, or more

And watching out for you fuck wits like a school counselor

Shotgun ‘plaining early payment, when Kiggie jewels tassel her

Why she patting me down, hear a ticking satchel? When I’m driving past you’ll

Know it’s fast, you’ll

Miss your spot, bruh

Bleaching blemishes beats, diagnosis Tannish Too-Tall Brugada

Fans losing they shit, like too much bananas; Japan east to Taiwan, they going postal

And your plan better rise those flags up, cuz in a min, I’M GOING POSTALLL

Oops in your life, flooding all summer, please pull up yo dresses up, ladies

Drop so much shit, brazy

Don’t call the plumber, we’re gonna need the fucking Navy

Awhhh

[Chorus 1]

Let’s get that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots

I’ll need that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots

Would never be the baddest guy, with lots’n, lots’n, lots

If you want to know what satisfies, it’s lots’n, lots’n, la, la, la ,la

[Verse 2]

Lamenting

Your fall, as I rise

See I would cry, but I’m

A fucking liar, I’m tired of nice guy

Laminating my first lines

I’ll Ebay those bucks for forgetting keys in a new ride

Or a pre-nup for my new wife, for the third time

Lose yourself in this light 'til you mess up your eyes

Minimize the slighted whines, my word’s jack shit as kinship ties

Toss a fifty while going fifty in a two-five when come the Five-0

And I’m not YMCMB enough to get paid for wearing a disguise, so

Let’s get that lots’n, lots

I’ll need that lots’n, lots’n, lots

Watch, this, Arab, springing with no stops

Take a lot more than spec ops

Got my vert locked

Earth burly-perseverance bestowed, not for the Frail Squad

Want it bowed, boxed, daily 'til drop, brah--

Focusing on getting cancer

Burn through the filter, I’ve been in a trance for

A day, or two, or three, or four, or a lot

Lies in question, I’ma b-be the answer

So watch’em circles you dot

Agh

Segway past you, like mall cops

Our Heaven’s mixed with Molotov

Velveeta cheese on fire, like Ghost Rider--

[Bridge]

(FUcking lame-ass motherfuckers goddamn I'm not fucking with you at, ALL)

[[Whatsoever]]

And also:

[Interlude]

Your boisterous a load of bollocks, bruh

I’ll make your portrait portray a Pollock, bruh

Might need no wallop, their concrete kicks can’t trip no nautical

Pussies only bushwhack after my howitzer

Checks out of balance, sure

But the UZ ‘zecs run the galaxy

Wanna get soaked in the Apple’s juice or gasoline?

[Chorus 2]

Let’s get that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots'n, lots

I’ll need that lots’n, lots’n, lots’n, lots'n, lots'n, lots'n, LOTS

Never act the baddest, with lots’n, lots’n, lots

How much gain reaped from passiveness’s breeding…?

Hmm…

This hope, I am conceiving

Our names, to them, no meaning, while the wicked rise, us patronize

Hate being a downer, but at the same time, am I the only one fucking here dissatisfied...?!

...Ha ha

Huh...

Yeah I gotta...

I'm gonna...

I'll--I'll catch ya'all later

(aye, yuh)

[Mixtape Outro]

"Wow...I mean, this is a, like, really cool thing you guys got going here, and like, there's a lot of, like, awesome creative energy, but...I can't help but ask the question...hhhow can I make money off this? Well, more specifically, how can *I*, make money off of this?"