Larry Fisherman - Suplexes Inside of Complexes & Duplexes lyrics

[Intro: Mac Miller] Might as well introduce This is madness! This is an outrage! (echo) As a matter of fact, this is outrageous! [Verse 1: Mac Miller] Yeah, young sire, slap the f** out Jon Cryer Rough rider, raw bust inside a vagina Like I want kids My head continues to be haunted I burn a city down while I'm unconscious, maybe gone Take some quaaludes, conversate with Jesús Batting practice with the mothaf**in' ghost of Babe Ruth Do as a saint do, turn painful to graceful Devil on my trails, I'm trying to find the Holy Grail (Coughs repeatedly) Right there And if Mars is the farthest that man has set his target Then I don't know why I even started I'm sick of being too nice to people who don't do sh** but consume light Told myself, "f** the world kid, just do what you like" Go and have a food fight Start yourself a new life You're too bright to be inside a bunch of mediocrity But all those big words ain't gon' get you paid And those abstract ideas for sure won't get you laid You got it made in that mad house What the f** you got to be sad 'bout? Go 'head a rap now Do what you do best, I mean That's what you do best Matter fact mothaf**a, you suit vest You need to buy a new dress I heard you and your girl live in a duplex I'm a put her a** in a Suplex, the sun east The moon west You got a clue, what does a clue get? Nothing [Verse 2: Jay Electronica] My milk and honey, my chérie-chérie amore My Cinderella in her carriage by the doorway Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the scarecrow And the lion through the forest To the wicked witch's fortress where she scorched them in the foreplay Remember that? He said he'd fight the box to see the wizard When he was visited by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard Now the whole world's in color, still How Auntie Em was next of kin And not her mother Real, her face was careworn I suspected she migrated to Kansas up from Dearborn And had beef with Mrs. Gulch from the very beginning of Year One Mr. Candyman, the parables parabolic The poetry's like the poems and psalms of Ecclesiastes Lightning should strike the stone and then Moses should make a tablet The Judge will bang the wood up in parliament with the mallet And yell "Hear, Hear," finally some order to this rap sh** Finally some sort of water to soil these cracked lips I keep my sh** crispy and elegant, So miss me with the irrelevant The god body is heaven-sent The hard-body is reverence, since the son of Byford Brother of Fal, every rhyme's halal Every line is kosher, livin' la vida loca Shout out to Tony Toca, we ballin' like we suppose to..