The List - The Knux

Yeah, it’s Krispy.

Yeah, Krispy.

Yeah, check the list.

Krispy.

Yeah, Krispy

Hahahahaha

It’s Krispy

Check it out

Say the chicks' freaks?

Nigga let’s expose 'em

Coast them to come the spot and poke ‘em

Spin it up, rig it off, for self-control

Still I got a lust for these selfish hoes

Slender type, livin' life, no agenda

To hinder the tender bitch, no surrender

Seven days a week, seven days no sleep

I sleep and then I wake, another case of the freaks

Please on the futon, spread like poupon

And then put the food on, like Paul Prudhomme

Cook it up, cook it up, cook it up, move on

Yep, barely all full with Filet Mignon

It’s LA, exactly, these broads are tacky

To get it they do anything to make you happy

Wow, that’s facts, that’s tracks for the blacks

That’s tits for the whites, got dick for the wives

Desperate like Eva, the evil divas

They must lust me, that’s the semen eaters

From the window of my room see the Hollywood sign

On the phone with my people, «How your mom and them?»

Fine

So now, I know you don’t wanna go out with me man, check it out though.

It’s probably like, my last time asking you to go out.

I know I said this last

time, but, this is really the last time.

Listen to me.

Come out with me tonight,

I promise you, I never ask your ass again

They met him in London

His hell was the fever

He talked with an accent, practice

They lift off his cheek but, that’s

Shit not funny, this no game neither, um

Sneakers, ballistic Aristocats

Skateboard James Paul for the sake, rack

The model with American dreams, stay choking

He listened to a bitch with the Air Beethoven

Stay locc’in, don’t ask her questions

Shovin' down your throat like an antiseptic pop

Bigger than beats this is a rock in the garage

And make a gumbo with hip hop in the marriage

Jazz class felt like ass

Fucking his horn, bust some nut on the brass

Last laugh, give me that cash

On the way to Wells Fargo

A gift to the teller

He’s a hipster, he’s hip to the better

Think about a hoe like a rip in the sweater

Life’s an eight ball, he took his face off

Now you can put this shit on like face off

Hey Scotty, you ready for take off?

But nigga we ain’t got no time for space off