Mac Miller — No Bygones

[Intro] I got this light shinin' in my— You can turn that light off Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Everything is on purpose Everything is on purpose, on purpose, yeah Everything is on purpose, yeah Everything is on purpose, on purpose, yeah Mmm-hmm Hell yeah, okay [Verse] You can bet I never tell a lie in my songs You fakin', how the fuck you coming flexin' with a Scion? I'm buyin' anything I put my eyes on No bygones, no motherfuckin' bygones You need to do better, I keep it hot, I choose weather That's God level, solid, I'm all metal You soft Jello, I am flyin' higher than falsetto What's on special? Short bus dropped to the floor bus Full course, got her pussy wetter than pool shorts They waitin', never playin' like the side of the hoop court Decided to do more, I'm runnin' my own shit I know I look fantastic, I'm so happy you noticed You should focus on yourself, why your lips so loose? You talk a lot of shit, but you don't sip no juice High on opinions, but you low on funds Shit, it's my time and it's your time of the month Rhymin' ain't really nothin' but boredom I just absorb, then I'm on Gee, I'm exitin' orbit, but more importantly I'm gettin' up every mornin' Too many squares in your circle You way too out of proportion, so act accordingly Normally I'm torn between good and bad How I'm 'bout to knock 'em down, uppercut, hook or jab I ain't seen this much food since back in cookin' class Let me see what else inside this goody bag Everything is on purpose Temperature is risin', my hand is on the furnace Adventures of a dyin' breed I was way too high to even try to see But finally, I'm glidin' on the surface JuJu on Burfict, lights out, picture-perfect right now Not concerned with your bullshit, pipe down I might just pull up to the White House Shit... Unlikely The president say my name again, he gotta fight me I ain't puttin' that politely, that's word to Spike Lee Somethin' don't seem right, not at all Little tiny-ass pants, why your pockets small? One foot in front of the other, I'm 'bout a hundred tall Overkill, Jonah Hill numbers with the Moneyball I called a lot of shots, missed a bunch of calls See the phone, Al Capone, it's on silent Home on a solid gold throne, when in Rome Tell 'em all, "Keep quiet and please leave me alone"