Mac Miller — Pet Sounds

[Intro: Mac Miller] I wrote this under the influence of narcotics Yeah Play them horns! Young raspy god [Verse 1: Mac Miller] Yeah, um Why you fuckin' up my good mood? The Bimmer used but it look new Your raps dry as overcooked food My shit is kaboom I took shrooms, now I'm playin' dodgeball in a crooked room So address me as your superior Mind on delirium, ice-cold interior Stirrin' up the chaos, I'm the cause of the confusion Young, grown-ass nuisance with the strength of 22 men Pukin' all over your brand new accoutrements Lucrative, assassin them, shoot to miss I turn my body into Eucharist Nail me to a crucifix If I'm gonna kill myself, then I'ma do it big Scalin' Mount Vesuvius We don't even know what bein' human is And what's a man when he lose his wits? Useless as the news at six Foolish, we nothin' but a bunch of rotten and stupid kids [Chorus: Mac Miller] I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you, punch you) I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you, punch you) I wanna, I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face (Pow, bitch) Hahaha (Yeah), yeah [Verse 2: Mac Miller] You live inside a computer In 2014, religion turn to rumor Maneuver through the world in a Uber Born to be a loser to the world, I'm just a tumor they'll remove If I would've done my schoolwork I could've been a Oklahoma Sooner with a golden retriever I named Cooper Work part-time at Bruegger's Workin' on securin' me a future, the American dream Big titty bitches guaranteed a spot on the team Bust inside my pants, leave a spot on my jeans Clean it up Why are pretty girls always mean to us? I'm the Godzilla of mess Leave my house forgettin' that I'm still in a dress Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam, blam, blam Gun sounds, gun sounds [Chorus: Mac Miller] I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna, I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face (Pow, bitch) Hahaha (Yeah), yeah I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna, I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face (Pow, bitch) Hahaha (Yeah) [Verse 3: Sean Price] I'm worldwide, but I smack clowns local Gunshots, M.O.P. background vocals Fire in the hole of the designer of your clothes On the up and up, you fuckin' up, why you fuckin' with those? Planet of the apes, the survival of the goons I'm so dope, you could put the lighter on the spoon I'm tightest with the tunes, need a verse and I write it, son Master shit with no practice, bitch, Al Iverson Fuck the king of New York, in my presence they all peasants The king is all talk Whoever holdin' the crown Better pass that shit to me, P, I'm holdin' it down Fuck if you the greatest A lot of rappers got killed, fuck around and be the latest Your bars warm, my shit smokin' I pitch Knicks at my pace, I'm Chris Copeland Yeah [Chorus: Mac Miller] I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna, I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face (Pow, bitch) Hahaha (Yeah), yeah I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you) I wanna, I wanna punch you in your fuckin' face (Pow, bitch) Hahaha (Yeah), yeah