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Horchata Lyrics - Artist : Travis Thompson
(Really reaching out
For the butterflies) Go Rolling Ambaum, sipping Horchata If you want it the boy got it He's steady after more profit If you want it then the boy got it I look like Andy Milonakis with a lot less swag I'm a talker like my mama and a poet like my dad I'm a bull shitter, 'Lil spitter, who stumbled out the vag With a vengeance for them vixens And his pants already sagged I'm that bed wetter, trend setter My pen letters, been better So fuck folding a men's sweater I'm destined for greatness I sweat in my check I'm kicking up my feet making a mess of your desk like Where the women, where the money, where the good smoke? Where the love, where the funny, where the good folk? Where the change, where the light, where's the young's hope? And did we come this far just to run home? No the fuck we didn't I'm killing you must be kidding All the class I skipped to make a classic Ship is never sinking though You need to rethink it (uh) We can never kick it though Cuz none y'all ever doing shit Don't hit me like 'lets link up, bro' Nope, because I'm off of the shits And best believe I'm dipping if I'm offered the chips Yeah, we in the green room eating lunchables Don't shake my hand, I ain't your fam And don't nobody fuck with you Treat you like a substitute, laughing when your backs turned I'm scorching everything I touch Until this shit is passed burned And I got peach fuzz on my face So how it feel when I'm laughing you start running this race? We ain't one in the same, like don't you ever call me frat rap But bet ill take that show cuz I'm after all your frats racks Yup, I'm in the pockets of your polo shorts Taking cash and split it with my crazy clique composed of dorks It's crazy all this shit we do for the buzz I'm tryna flex, my mama's yelling 'bout some pubes in the tub Yeah, coming to you soon, don't be that lame-o that missed us Catch me in your city, I'm yelp reviewing the strip clubs Now watch it how we switch up No marketing, no management, no publishing, it's just us Some young bucks, who grew up on this town shit Steady making moves, when we gotta be home around six (Huh) and I'm still spitting these town raps And the cops are still harassing my brown dad And I'm still writing the same verse My homies went to class while I'm chasing respect from Strangers, a strange nerd wrote poems And rode his board home How bad he fucking want it He's praying like only lord knows Angry at himself, every verse he spit hit a sore bone Left that for everyone who told him he needed more flow And more souls affected by all the words he spit Nurishment for the broken and anyone pursuing this So he gon' bare every part of it, all the pieces Until he becomes exactly who the old him needed Ambaum |
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