Artist: Speak f/ Vince Staples Album: Inside Out Boy Song: Whatever Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash [Speak] 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 bitch I ain't rape or at least think about it Because if you talk about it got to be about it At least that's what they used to tell me when I dreamed about it Self-suppression and hate where would I be without it Seems to be the only reason I can script This shit, but fuck it I live this shit 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 bullshit, so if I get a range then maybe I'll get a bitch Put hickeys over her neck instead of slittin her shit 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 Nine to five every mornin mad cause I never lived Nigga fuck that, cause I would rather be the nigga with the whole world mad at me than the faggot I'm not [Chorus] Why the fuck you talkin to me like I ain't got guap (you don't) Why you actin like my tape won't knock (it won't) Well fuck you and I hope you rot (croak) Whatever, whatever, whatever Why the fuck you talkin to me like I ain't got guap (you don't) Why you actin like my tape won't knock (it won't) Well fuck you and I hope you rot (well, you're an asshole) Whatever, whatever, whatever [Speak] Here's another rap from your favorite hipster faggot The unfunny cunt youn rap Bob Saget Who keeps a full house full of bitches like the Olsen Twins And lets them heroin binge until they're flyin of the hinge I'm a sleaze bag baby that's a known fact Got a fetish for them black girls that make their ass clap But they don't fuck with me my dick is extra medium So I sit home alone higher than some helium No one was feelin him until I threw a curve ball A couple sticks of dynamite stuffed inside a Nerf ball How you makin hits swingin with a wifflebat How the fuck you gettin high puffin simple nickel sacks Nickelback, fickle rap, I'm bringin Tommy Pickles back Bitch fuck 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 motherfucker catchin 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 Pussy fat like a welcome mat yellin Speaky welcome back Leave it worn and leave it torn until I've had enough of that [Chorus]