Numbers

Y’all fuckers bore me
Don’t wanna talk about mechanical royalties
I wanna talk about orgies and forgery
World Wars and some things more important
Than some record stores pretending there’s only four dwarfs
I’m a word’s worth, four score, some odd years ago
I appeared like a miracle, maybe you didn’t hear me dog
Hear me g, hit you with some shit you never heard before
Heard before, Ash Roth, rap's own herbivore
Lord of sore Sportsmanship, throw shit when I don’t win
When things get grim, I’m Jim…Harbaugh, times are hard brah
I’m tired of playing hard ball, bartered with a strong arm
Tall broads, large bra, hard on, flaw, I ball like James Hardon
Little off, chance he was gay, then he went straight
Only pause for long when I stand at buffets
Blonder than Dolly Parton that’s in a Pamela phase
Stamina swate, handsome, my advantage is fate
Haters gon’ hate but all they say is “damn it, he’s great”
(Damn it, he’s great) Famished, need a sandwich to taste
I like my ham with cheese and mayonnaise
Mind your manners on dates (Standard procedure sheriff)
Yeah, my plan is to wait, sip of Brandy while you standing
Come and stand in my place, sham and embrace
Let’s keeping it go merrily, listening, I’m terribly
Little George chopping down the cherry tree, true
There’s a moment in youth when growing ensues
Not only are you growing but you show and improve
Low and behoove, I’m sowing that my flowing in proof
Yeah, merlowing ain’t the only thing that slowly improves