Full Lyrics : Jetpack Jones - Everybody Raps

Ladies loving my music is like some sex shit

n*ggas trying to grip up my mic like it's a dick (On the mic like it's a dick)

Run around the corner to pick up the new shit (The shit)

Toss this in the deck so n*ggas can catch rep

What's good, good? And what's good, evil?

And what's good, gangstas? And what's good, people?

And whys God's phone die every time that I call on Him?

If his son had a Twitter wonder if I would follow him

Swallow them synonyms like cinnamon Cinnabon

Keep all them sentiments down to a minimum

Studious Gluteus Maxim models is sending him

Pics of they genitalia tallied up ten of 'em

I slurped too many pain-kills, down I'm off a lot

I got a lot off days but it ain't often that I'm off the clock

Ya Kna Wha Mean, I got the Chicago Blues

We invented rock before the Stones got through

We just aiming back cause the cops shot you

Buck buck bang bang, yelling "f*ck Fox News!"

Booyaka buckle up, mothaf*ck opps too

Ain't no knuckling up 'em young cause it just not cool

Nice to see you Father New Year

Middle finger Uncle Samuel

Shooting death with weighted dice

And hitting stains on birthday candles

I know somebody, somebody loves my ass

Cause they help me beat my demons ass

Everybody's somebody's everything

I know you right

Nobody's nothing

That's right

Right? IGH

I used to tell hoes I was dark light or off white

But I'd fight if a n*gga said that I talk white

And both my parents was black

But they saw it fit that I talk right

With my drawers hid but

My hard head stayed in the clouds like a lost kite

But gravity had me up in a submission hold

Like I'm dancing with the Devil with two left feet and I'm pigeon toed

In two small point ballet shoes with a missing sole

And two missing toes

But it's love like Cupid kissing a mistletoe

Like Cassius ducking the draft and now the fight is over

The type to love from a distance not the type that told her

Spent three days on the rap, trash it and type it over

With babies on the block under arms like fighting odors

Coppers and quotas

Hold ya head like 2Pac had taught

Obviously they are on a come up

With better chances tobogganing in the f*cking summer

Concoctions for the bad days and a condom for the good ones

All odds against we tryna get lucky

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