Vince Staples - Whatever lyrics

[Vince Staples] Just woke up, another day another dollar that I ain't make Another search for that one soul I can't hate Can't think of a wrong turn I ain't take Or think of a past b**h I ain't rape Or at least think about it Cause if you talk about it guess you gotta be about it At least that's what they used to tell me when I dreamed about it The self-suppression and hate, where would I be without it Seems to be the only reason I can script this sh** But f** it I live this sh** So why not speak about hell, seems I know it so well They say you make the happy endings to the stories you tell And that's bullsh** So if I got a range then maybe I'll get a b**h Put hickeys over her neck instead of slitting her sh** Join a local church, stock bibles at the crib Have a daughter and support her at ballet recital gigs Barbecues with neighbors, and a belly full of beer 9 to 5 every morning, mad cause I never lived n***a f** that Cause I would rather be The n***a with the whole world mad at me Than the f*ggot I'm not [Hook] Why the f** you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't) Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't) Well f** you, and I hope you rot (croak) Whatever, whatever, whatever Why the f** you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't) Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't) Well f** you and I hope you rot (well, you're an a**hole) Whatever, whatever, whatever [Speak] Here's another clever rap from your favorite hipster f*ggot The unfunny c*nt, young rap Bob Saget Who keeps a full house full of b**hes like the Olsen twins And lets them h**n binge until they're flying off the hinge I'm a sleaze bag, baby that's a known fact Got a fetish for the black girls that make their a** clap But they don't f** with me, my dick is extra medium So I sit home alone, higher than some helium No one was feeling him until I threw a curve ball A couple sticks of dynamite stuffed inside a nerf ball How you making hits swinging with a wiffle bat How the f** you getting high puffing simple nickel sacks Nickelback, fickle rap, I'm bringing Tommy Pickles back b**h f** your kids, tuck them in, I think they need a little nap I'm in your kitchen now, puffin on a cigarette You can toss my salad, but don't forget the vinaigrette I'm balsamic with Islamic fundamentalist A real motherf**er catching wrecks like Oedipus Better warn you relatives when I'm on the rampage In a drunken half daze and I ain't touch a damn stage But once I'm there I might come up live And if her legs are opened up I might cum inside p**y fat like a welcome mat, yelling Speaky welcome back Leave it worn and leave it torn until I've had enough of that [Hook] Why the f** you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't) Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't) Well f** you and I hope you rot (croak) Whatever, whatever, whatever Why the f** you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't) Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't) Well f** you and I hope you rot (well, you're an a**hole) Whatever, whatever, whatever