Mac Miller — Bob’s Dementia

[Intro: Mac Miller] Bob's dementia Chapter one Now here lies a great man, a man of the people A man of the people, people (Yeah, oh) [Verse 1: Mac Miller] Yeah, here he comes, it's the highly unprofessional Hyper sexual, intellectual Fried my brain, now I've become a vegetable Travel with a gang of weird lookin' extraterrestrials (Mi-mi-mi-mi) They left me on their ship and made their bitches call me "General" The dick quake could make a bitch shake like she got Parkinson's You out there politickin', I'm studyin' Darwinism (God) I keep some bars and hit 'em like a hard collision (Bang) Don't fuck around it's murder in this art exhibit And I got the whole game on paralyzed 'cause my volume on amplified It's slow as a biracial bitch that's waitin' on her hair to dry (I don't wanna go yet) Are you prepared to die? Burnin' this Ameri-fry Where people that protect you are the ones that have you terrified I only act this way 'cause my soul so broken I'm the illest that you know, you a low dose Motrin Laryngitis, hepatitis, the AIDS virus I guess that's what you get from bein' 'round a bunch of rat vaginas And you (And you), you pussy I wouldn't fuck with, a drunk dick The day I came back from being hostage to the Russian mob Missin' a finger and see my brother shot (Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa) I'm comin' for your neck, so hide your head inside your mother's box (Motherfucker) It still ain't cliche to say, "Fuck the cops" (No) Let's try it ("Fuck the cops") 'Cause I just smoked a bunch of rocks and walked around in just my socks And made myself a birthday cake with caramel and butterscotch [Bridge: Mac Miller, Hodgy & Mac Miller & Hodgy] Tasty, tasty, that shit is tasty This shit is tasty Nigga, smoke [Verse 2: Hodgy] We servin' faster than the Chinese This life carries a price cheaper than clown feet Like prostitutes with hoops and combined weaves Who hates herself inside So she sellin' her punani by umami (ooh mind me?) It's like my soul's inside the bowl I hold it close, 'cause I don't know when it's my time to go I'm blindin' fold, I hear my son laughing and time is froze And he knows it, lookin' at me like "That's my pops," and I'm his goal, nigga Motherfucker, I hit pockets, pickpockets I'll beat you for your keys, bubblegum, and your bitch wallet To his product, I'm a prodigy of a dead nigga No name droppin', scribin' when nobody was dead meat when they came flockin' Brain doctorin', where I left my hard dates Small shakes and small dates, the ones I only call late in parlay You know what the dark say, grab a bitch by the paw, ayy Her name's Autumn, she happens to be fallin' on the wrong day [Outro: Mac Miller, Hodgy & Mac Miller & Hodgy] Nigga, tasty (Tasty), tasty Tasty, that shit is tasty That shit is tasty Tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty