SIKE
Produced by: Adam Pickrell
Sequenced & Arranged by: John Congleton
Additional Drum Programming: Bird Peterson 
Horns: Reggie Pace

 I've been on some burn it down, leave this town, never look back shit 
Passing out on your couch, sneaking out the back tip
 Ripping credit cards out your mailbox snatch it
 Charge it to the game playboy, it's practice
  They been on some got this, squat this, reroute the power grid
 Cops can't stop this, over our dead body bitch
 Eat this, drop this, turn it up louder kid 
Put it down in our path? Million ways around that shit  
We backstage sterilizing tattoos with beer 
You cats stay paralyzed by bad news and fear 
You underage and they ain't fucking let you in here 
Fake ID G, and buy us all beer  
I’m sick of kids who sit and bitch about how they can't get into shit 
Ya "woe is me" steez, just getting bit ridiculous
 Fucking A, you're underage, that means they just slap your wrist
 If not, you're young and fit, “Yeah Bitch! Out run the pigs!”  
Ha! And give em all trophies
And some orange slices 
Yeah, y'all already know me 
One of the only that's really grindin’
  Lazy motherfuckers wanna call it luck 
Be real motherfuckers know there ain't no such
 Thing cause i mean there ain't no free lunch
 You better fix your own plate or serve one to us
  Go on pray to your God, or complain on facebook 
Stay waiting for your Dad, to come save the day dork
 Voted for Obama, and expecting changes It’s just one big party all giving the same gifts  "SIKE!"  Like a P.O.S T-shirt! 
YIKES!  It’s only gonna get worse! 
RIGHT?  This beat Is kinda bzerk 
Turn it up louder till my fucking teeth hurt!
  Yeah girl, I own some gold teeth
I’m southern, I was taught to hold heat
Ain’t no gangster, I’ll tell that true
Rick Ross just a cop with some bad tattoos

Florida baby, yeah my neck stay real red
While you make believe pushing that white shit
You dress up gangsters can play pretend
I stay slangin that white girl round my bed

Young Steve McQueen spit that dick game
You tweet real bossy for a bitch with a tin chain
I don’t need no Maybach just to sharpen my pimp girl
Pull girls on my bike they ride my handlebars home, man!

Ooh!  Put my word on that chief
Rihanna gonna haller, the way I murdered that beat
A condom like an umbrella, King Kong in the bed sheets
Just haller at a fella when you’re done with that dead beat!

CHORUS

 See, I can write your dumb raps 
Pay me, and go buy some hubcaps
 Fake G’s talkin bout gun claps
 Ain't gonna happen, like A-Rod's come back
  Talent is cheap, money's all made up
 Gallons of beam, and the speakers based up
Fuck it!  I got nothing left to say son 
Y'all get Cryphy!  Thank you Based God! 

CHORUS 

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
-Albert Camus


Side One Dummy Records: Worldwide
Cargo Records: Europe

Sike!

Running Away from God

Attila Ambrus

Cut the Body Loose

Kudzu

i looked up the chords and did this in like 5 minutes dont bully me

I'll learn the whole thing eventually

The Dirt Bike

The Dirt Bike (feat. Factor Chandelier)

These Songs

These Songs (feat. Factor Chandelier & Fadeaway Jumpers)

Sick

Sick (feat. Ceschi & P.O.S)

I'll learn the whole thing eventually

byperbam