Whats His Face - Frying Pan Lyrics

Straight up out the fryin' pan make you burn ya tongue
Trynna replicate that Face sound
There could only be one
Put that on 'citas
Never seen a bigger phenom
To kill it is a must
Motherf*cker no Elon
What's the read on
The situation it's simple
You bitches basic
Fickle, I'll break you brittle ones
Quicker than concentration
Sick with the conversation
That'll rip you 'part in two places
Chip away at you, break you
Until you crooked and faceless

Whole crew need a facelift
You are not who you say you is
Shame on you, you fake as shit
Who you think you playing with?
I'm what every rapper claim they is
But actually am - I spat (ptew)
There goes ya plan

To be the top dog
You're not hard you soft
Something like the Inside of a fig newton
Verbals hurt you, murk ya shook, convoluting
Back up - before you look more stupid

Bars infinite
You think you seen the end of the tunnel
But you ain't even entered the rubble
And already struggling
Hostile pen - put you in hospital beds
Rocked on the chin
Doc jotting on a pad amoxicillin

Talk shit again and end up in the Mercury
Verbally committing 1st degree
A Fiend pushin pads chopping it up properly
Make ya trunk thump from the way that the bass knocking

It's effortless
Lyrical specialist, I reside on the precipice
No preference, you could pick and choose what the weapon is
No preface to me, while half of ya'll are impressionists
Call me a pessimist
I Can't Help Myself

Been doin' this for years and seen em come and go like
When the lowlights hit
The pressure make a grown man fold
They more like kids
Resolve hollow, quick to follow
Fame got em up And down like vibrato
Chasing The lotto

They Trend bitin Not setting em
Me? I zag with it Cuz ziggin is so pedestrian
It's no pressure
Im holy the flow blessin em
Sir, please don't Question me
I'm in a whole

Different bracket
I'm punching backwards
I'm sonnin you Bastards
Motherf*cker I'll eat yo bread In front of the class
While You sitting starving
Praying I move on to the next target
Nah, I'm petty boy I ain't done w your ass
Ay Yo check

W H F, down like bass cleffs
Don't get caught in the crossfire hunting for paychecks
I'm on that real shit, never watered down
I perpetuate the flavor never guess what imma say next

Punchlines weak
You need to dig deep to stand beside me
Peep the ollie, when I jump off it's a hit
Ohtani Don't try me
You lame ass punks disorganized
And I've been in business with all sorts of guys
You the type to get mortified
Or dead upon arrival when it's time to put your pen to paper
This Man kinda wack
F*ck it im the undertaker
I'll chuck
You offa the cell
These speed running
Type Beat bitches offer to sell ya
Dookie on a grid haaa that shit is hysterical
I'll chuck ya I said, man that shit's turrible
From the kick to the bars got FACE written on it
If I fell off I swear to God that'd be a miracle