3-15 - 6th Grade lyrics

6th Grade 3-15 1st Verse: I snatched a pen, grabbed my notebook; f** this homework, -it can wait./ This new idea buggin' me -won't stop for Satan's sake./ Gimme a big enough canvas and brush so I can paint./ Then splatter like spatter; I'm after a Pica**o and Van Gogh fate./ I strangulate; Tech doin' tongue twisters,/ Is like me simply spittin sickly sixteens after Swishers./ I'm off the richter./ I'm far from stigma -I'm enigma./ Common symptom: my flawless rhythm causes a lot of hippin',/ And hoppin' like Scottie Pippen./ I'm grindin' but off the rails;/ Tony Hawk oughta make me an icon Cause this rappin' surely won't and I will fail./ I'm at sea with fishy MCs; choruses got me hooked when I'm blue and wail./ Show ya what a Rubik's Cube flow entails./ I've made a habit of rapid, rabid rappin';/ Nobody's clappin'; my tactic's only practice 'til I attack the ma**es./ Feelin' bouncy; lousy bands make her dance -ridonculous a**es- beyond the fastest,/ Asian with a pocket protector and gla**es./ I think it's time I get out my shell; a hermit's on the bottom of the totem pole./ Never would be notable if I'm not some quotable,/ Spitta with some sociable sk**s -lookin' approachable./ Anxiety gets me emotional,/ And yet, I manage to get around the block spittin sixteens and hittin' petites./ Get 'em in sheets; givin' 'em titties a squeeze./ Freak 'em and leave; don't call -- I play the game and repeat./ I've covered all bases; it's why Im'a beat,/ All the ones thinkin' they runnin' the game./ I'll make fun of a lame; I turn a nun to a babe./ Of course, I'm simply one of the same,/ Angels from above and the flame./ Dang, must be how I come and then came./ (Haha.) I love how I began writing at twelve and got to where at without so much as a decent crowd,/ But people peep me now./ My duty's to make sure you don't leave with doubt -so hear me out./ Oh, you not feelin' me? Well, I am; scream and shout./ I love this new style that I'm schemin' wit'./ Ever since I was teamin' wit' Knu and introduced G to Fif,/ It's indeed a pith./ So if I need a hit after I drink a fifth and heed to split,/ It's cause I'm 'bout to beat a beat and leave it stitched./ Had I known that I would come to rap with ease,/ I'd'a start sooner with strategies,/ Internals and slant rhymes I never would'a rapped with these,/ Other local so-called MCs./ They don't worry 'bout their rappin -just the fashion from their steez,/ But I'm not like the rest that's spammin' up ya inbox./ I quit that sh** some time ago, and f**in' thin s*uts bored of f**in' thin co*ks./ That's why 'em Clackamas babes prefer one Javier over ten jocks./ I'm different from how another rapper in Portland talks./ Maybe it's the way I watch my grammar like a Nazi holding ten clocks./ Either way, I love spittin' hard and gettin' laid like cement blocks.../ (You might think I'm, ah, f**,) I had to get that tag outta the way; now that I have, I can keep rippin',/ Or maybe let the beat ride out for you f**s that keep thinkin',/ That I'll say anything that means somethin', then cease spittin',/ But I keep trippin'; every rapper in Portland thinks that he's sittin',/ On some throne, bad to the bone -who is he kiddin'?/