Shut Up - Lunar C, Mash

Mash

One Punch Willy

They’re looking like food to me, a battling ship got a lunchbreak

I pray on them like a Sunday, fuckface

I’ve got no chill, people knew my name but I was broke still

The bars were outstanding but so was my phone bill

I came back twice as fat as before

Smoked a dab and recorded this verse sat on the floor

And there’s still dumb bastards that call rapping a sport

I don’t have any flaws, I don’t know what I’m practicing for

I got bigger than Godzilla, not even God’s iller

You’ve been tryna take my spot since I was a lot thinner

Pussy, I’ve had more hot dinners than you’ve had hot dinners

On your couch with your bitch on my lap like a dogsitter

Tell them I’m back on my shit again

I’ve been cold since you was reading Mr. Men

Back when Crazy Titch gave that taxi driver fifty pence

I’ll whoop you like you’re my son, look I’m not one of your little friends

They’re lying if they say they’re rhyming nicer than me

Big fuck off dirty dead fly on my tee

Don’t get tied up and thrown in my cellar

I’m from England, I don’t say words like homie and hella

My aura’s nothing less than godly

I’m better than everybody and I’ll never not be

Pussyhole’s disagree just to be different

So people don’t deserve a fucking opinion

Shut up and listen

Life’s fucked 'cause I’m winning

But still fucking the ugliest women

It’s a juxtaposition

I lift the belly up to adjust the position

Then get into a comfortable rhythm

Then leave, I’m not cuddling with them

You’ll never know if you need to ask

Any time could be your last

Fake killers with your lazy bars, tryna make a earner

So whether your lyrics are true or not, you’re getting away with murder

Spit into the camera like I’m 2Pac or Johnny Rotten

I live like I don’t know God is watching

Fuck your feelings, I ain’t got a conscience

I sold my soul and came back with my guitar like I’m Bobby Johnson

People tell me I’m a sicko

But my bitch loves me to death, she’s a black widow

I was tryna finish this verse but my friends rushed me

I’ll put your cat on a spin-cycle, something something wet pussy

They’re lying if they say they’re rhyming nicer than me

Big fuck off dirty dead fly on my tee

Don’t get tied up and thrown in my cellar

I’m from England, I don’t say words like homie and hella

My aura’s nothing less than godly

I’m better than everybody and I’ll never not be

Pussyhole’s disagree just to be different

So people don’t deserve a fucking opinion

Shut up and listen

They give it the biggen but I see through it

Don’t speak, do it, don’t speak, do it

Bring nothing to the table and you get DDTed through it to theme music,

don’t be stupid