Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo - R.I.P. lyrics

[Produced by Childish Gambino] [Intro: Ludwig Goransson] Oh, this is the idea where you're doing, like, one piece of artwork per track [Childish Gambino] That's dope [Verse 1: Bun-B] Late a** nights come from long days Doin' all the right things in the wrong ways Doin' all the wrong sh** for the right reasons Sprinklin' midnight game, call it night seasoning Haters get salty give 'em cholesterol Trill O.G, mop up the floor with the best of y'all Then dry that b**h off with the rest of y'all And catch a flight to Rio de Janero for la festival Yeah, and that's word to fit a baldy Ball hard like it's cement inside of my Spalding And I'll break your face with a no look pa** Now back to your parking lot pimp with yo little hook a** I use harsh words cause these are hard times And trill-a** people, nowadays they're such a hard find So it's one eye open if I could peep ‘em And one on the scope, so if they frontin' I can sleep 'em Man, my flow is so parabolic The energy'll blow you over even if you're brolic Goddamn it, now that's one for the Googlers That fell sleep on they desk and never step their noodle up Takin' lames out never been new to us The hardest part of this sh** is figurin' which of you to bust Then step your weight up like GNC And R.I.P. to Chris Luda reppin' CNC Straight G [Hook] There's somethin' inside you It's hard to explain They're talking about you boy But you're still the same There's somethin' inside you It's hard to explain They're talking about you boy But you're still the same [Verse 2: Childish Gambino] Rest in peace to them n***as who was dead wrong Toni Braxton to them n***as, that's a sad song Cry a river Timberlake, the whole industry Record the whole album in my living room in Italy n***as who wasn't feelin' me secretly want a handout Keep your mouth shut, I can probably help your man out Drop a new stack all lames get to steppin' Drop a new track all blogs go to heaven k** the web, man these n***as need they hits up Kiss her neck, add a dime to the tip cup She is not "s*ut," f** a dude who says so Just because she's f**in' doesn't mean she ain't a lady k** the whole stage, I never needed a mic check Semen on my spacebar, f**in' tired of Skype s** Runnin' with a new breed, me and Bun B This hip-hop nation, that big country n***a please! We ain't stop for no one Wu-Tang Generator name, I'm a shōgun Wu-Tang Generator name, watch him smoke one Talk a lot of sh**, but none of them will approach him Gambino got first position, the game is ballet So graceful; drive, he don't need a valet So angel: fly as I wanna be Mercy, somebody show these n***as can't hurt me Woah [Hook] There's somethin' inside you It's hard to explain They're talking about you boy But you're still the same There's somethin' inside you It's hard to explain They're talking about you boy But you're still the same