hi-fi

Bones

I slide by coming at ya in hi-fi (what up)
Tryna see if you pussies got nine lives (pull up)
Everytime I don t feast, I fine dine turn ya
Corpse to bread, turn ya blood into wine
Mr. Disinfected heart pumping garbage
still clogging my veins
I remember nights of loneliness and day full of pain
With the shadows, I would battle
till I hemorrhage my brain
Synthetic blunts had me daze for days
I would succumb to my weakness
crazed from the drinking
Locked in a mode, no control overthinking
Weight up on my shoulder, cannot carry it no more
Ears on mute and my eyes on slow-mo

You wouldn t fuck with the one they call
You wouldn t fuck with the one they call
Bones, the God of the microphone
Straight out the 517 zone
You wouldn t fuck with the one they call
You wouldn t fuck with the one they call
Bones, the God of the microphone
Straight out the 517 zone

You want me to keep going?
Alright

So I was chilling on the corner, and what else?
I was rolling up a blunt, and what else?
Said I was chilling on the corner, and what else?
Said I was rolling up a blunt, and what else?
Bones, the God of the microphone