- Lyrics
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- Singer Intro
Spose( Ryan Michael Peters )
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I'm Starving (Prod. by Spose)
Ain't shit changed still bony no bowflex Googling some titties while my girl won't give me throat sex (swag) Stressing, strung out, kotex Wishing I can get my money back from my old checks American proletariat derelict no inheritance heiresses think my lair is embarrassing I'm the stoner Spider Man ripping chemical vitamins Spit it general cyphering and gripping emerald heinekens I sold LP's smoked lb's You smell me? that's Wells, beach I'm on my soil chilling on a winter's night I ran out of oil, that's that shit I don't like Came in the game with a brain not an amulet I need the cannabis not what is on the mannequin I procreated so you know I need the money Must've saw me looking scrawny and they thought he wasn't hungry
Chorus: I'm starving, I'm starving Shit I'll eat all the food in your apartment I'm starving, I'm starving I might even eat the shit up out the garbage I'm starving, I'm starving I'll eat the whole turkey you ain't gotta carve it I'm starving, I'm starving I'll eat the walls and the ceiling and the carpet
Yo it's that ugly white rapper, no not Paul Wall But the one from the north who doesn't say 'all y'all' I got a ten sack that's like eight more balls And I'm gonna blow trees until the acorns fall, ayup It's like I'm riding in a beamer When I'm in a Nissan with Ryan Peters on the speakers, ayup Same shit, people that I came with Still up in Maine bitch I ain't that famous Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com And this isn't commercial But it would be if I hadn't been dropped from Universal They say you gotta pay to fly You want filets on a plane well them stakes is high So I'm sitting at McDonalds I don't got a dollar I might spit in it then sip the saliva out the bottle I procreated so you know I need the money Must've saw me looking scrawny and they thought he wasn't hungry
Chorus
(Bring it) This is East of Eden mixed with reasonable doubt Made an album for the label but they never put it out Paid my dues now I'm waiting on a couch Made enough off rap for down payments on a house ayup Come hither the blunt and drum hitter The humble humdinger the mumbling gun slinger Truck beds, middle class, bud hev Nickelback, little cash, enough said, cripple swag (spizzy) Back like a tramp stamp locale made one-hundred grand in a month but I'm broke now Luckily, that's what my steez is; genius, Covered up in crumbs from the cheez-its I got the fame, minimal Nickname, pivotal Whip game, miserable Rib cage, visible I procreated so you know i need the money Must've saw me looking scrawny and they thought he wasn't hungry
Chorus
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