"DOOIN EVEN MORE RAPPIN'" lyrics

Shot for the stars, and they didn't shoot back
At a date that the code got cracked, uh
Shot for the stars, next one wrecked
No star ever would pop back, and that's facts
Motherfucker, what's a truck? (Blrt) ah

Legacy, living, or name, to be remembered
Double barrel holy sin, an artist with the fire, no timber
Artist with the fire, like I'm sipping plain dinner
Artist with the fire, magic wand, I'm a word wizard

It's plain to see that I'm okay with some turbulence (flit)
I flashed up a mall inside an ambulance
Trying in the river
Make 'em think they're getting bandages
River rap, drown 'em out, wave at the damages

I'm looking in the mirror, still I see no damages
Look at these dudes, they don't even know what damage is

Church, motherfucker
Make you holy if you tell me where the chapel is
Adam, look at Eve, cause you choking on the effigies

Jesus freaks till they baptized for 30 minutes, then they
Transcend to the gate that's locked and can't get in it
Their career never started so they say it can't be ended, then they
Continue, pretending 'cause they're all bitches

You ain't this, and you'll never gonna be
Down south, baby, only sip a strong tea
And I done made a throne of gold and ate his soul nude

I'm still running this in old boots
Make her revolve, only the bold move

People still bumpin' my old tunes
Records infinitely shining and spinning
If I quit it'll be documented inside of a lavish
Shot bar room, famous last words
Fuck all you

I was thinking 'bout listing all of y'all's names and hit
How Hitler and cashing you out (flames)
I was writing a list, and not in the numbers the same
In the math, wasn't matching
You ain't Marshall Mathers, you (claim)

They get rid of themselves, they don't know when to stop
Asking, "Am I MC?" And arrest mass a cop
Cheatham County, motherfucker, church or shit on every drop
You ain't street smart
If you were, you'd be good to identify the op

Get your high school picture, yellow polo ain't pop
Alabama shell necklace and white boy shot
I had Goodwill shoes, too big with three shot
I grew up on David Allen, you fake used to listen to Tupac

Motherfucker, I'm really that motherfucker
You motherfucker, you couldn't even be that motherfucker
If you fucked my mother, you motherfucker
And you're suffering sucking ass, probably sucking for cash
And such gas. Oh, catalog, not even good enough trash
To wipe my cracker ash, you fucking fag

And you ain't doing rap
You're doing standing in the biggest shadow
Is shadow acting, these dudes write and ain't playin' 'em a gold
They throwin' plastic
Not even enough sales to be a regular vinyl

As homey copy my track, rhythm, the song title is vinyl
I'm never being controlled, on my outlaw shit
Music history, highlight my whole life, bitch

You ain't this, and you'll never gonna be
Down south, baby, only sip a strong tea
And I done made a throne of gold and ate his soul nude

I'm still running this in old boots
Make her revolve, only the bold move

People still bumpin' my old tunes
Records infinitely shining and spinning
If I quit it'll be documented inside of a lavish
Shot bar room, famous last words
Fuck all you

I think the devil wears a size 12 shoe
I think the devil wears a size 12 shoe
Well, my halo was size 12 too
And the devil wears a size 12 shoe

Thanks for the petty local, motherfucker (check)
Motherfuck! Kalani on the beat, motherfucker, ahh
I ain't fucking with him
Take an old ass to fuckin' Murse Large
I'm doing rap things

I'm just doing rap, and just so everyone can see
Chilling with Kalani on the beat in Tennessee
I'm just doing rap, and just so everyone can see
Chilling with Kalani, all the beat in Tennessee, motherfucker
Six one five, motherfucker
Shay never gonna change, fuck these people, I don't give a shit
I'm just a Cheatham County in Middle Tennessee
Motherfucker, that's all you're getting