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