My Daughters lyrics

[Vince Staples]
Just woke up another day another dollar that I ain't make
Another search for that one soul I can't hate
Can't think of a wrong turn I ain't take
Or think of a past b*tch I ain't rape
Or at least think about it
Because if you talk about it got to be about it
At least that's what they used to tell me when I dreamed about it
Self-suppression and hate where would I be without it
Seems to be the only reason I can script
This sh*t, but f*ck it I live this sh*t
So why not speak about hell, seems I know it so well
They say you make the happy endings to the stories you tell
And that's bullsh*t, so if I get a range then maybe i'll get a b*tch
Put hickeys over her neck instead of slitting her sh*t
Join a local church stock bibles at the crib
Have a daughter and support her at ballet recital gigs
Bar-b-ques with neighbors and a belly full of beer
9 to 5 every morning mad cause I never lived
n*gga f*ck that, cause I would rather be
The n*gga with the whole world mad at me
Than the faggot I'm not

[Hook]
Why the f*ck you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't)
Well f*ck you and I hope you rot (croak)
Whatever, whatever, whatever
Why the f*ck you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't)
Well f*ck you and I hope you rot (well, you're an as*h*le)
Whatever, whatever, whatever
[Speak]
Here's another rap from your favorite hipster faggot
The unfunny c*nt young rap Bob Saget
Who keeps a full house full of b*tches like the Olsen twins
And lets them heroin binge until they're flying of the hinge
I'm a sleaze bag baby that's a known fact
Got a fetish for them black girls that make their ass clap
But they don't f*ck with me my di*k is extra medium
So I sit home alone higher than some helium
No one was feeling him until I threw a curve ball
A couple sticks of dynamite stuffed inside a nerf ball
How you making hits swinging with a wiffle bat
How the f*ck you getting high puffing simple nickel sacks
Nickelback, fickle rap, I'm bringing Tommy Pickles back
b*tch f*ck your kids tuck them in I think they need a little nap
I'm in your kitchen now puffin on a cigarette
You can toss my salad but don't forget the vinaigrette
I'm balsamic with Islamic fundamentalist
A real motherf*cker catching wrecks like Oedipus
Better warn you relatives when I'm on the rampage
In a drunken half daze and I ain't touch a damn stage
But once I'm there I might come up live
And if her legs are opened up I might c*m inside
pus*y fat like a welcome mat yelling Speaky welcome back
Leave it worn and leave it torn until I've had enough of that
[Hook]
Why the f*ck you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't)
Well f*ck you and I hope you rot (croak)
Whatever, whatever, whatever
Why the f*ck you talking to me like I ain't got guap (you don't)
Why you acting like my tape won't knock (it won't)
Well f*ck you and I hope you rot (well, you're an as*h*le)
Whatever, whatever, whatever