Polo (feat. Earl Sweatshirt)

Mac Miller:

I give no fucks when I go nuts, cause I smoke dust, overdosed on the sofa then

Woke up from the coma pulled up in a Skoda smoked, went back to bed

Never thought it would be such a loner, I tell my bitch that I fucking own her

My neighbor's daughter just got a dog, I'ma run it over, I'm a fucking soldier

So cold bro fuck pneumonia, all my bitches got love for Sosa, I just wanna fuck

Roast up coaster then disappear in Southern California

Strung out to the night, I'm chilling, everybody worried the lights might kill them

Via sight slipping, long lines of those white women

I'm with the homies, bump Counting Crows

Just went through the half ounce of coke, blood pouring out my nose

Don't tell my mom I got a drug problem, I'm fucking high

Leave proper size, when the sun go down I come alive

Cause the guns go off in the summer time, cause the guns go off in the summer time

Blaow

Mac Miller:

This another motherfucking rap song

Broke and crazy, rich and famous doesn't last long

Spent all my cash on a broken dream

Went from weed and liquor to the coke and lean

All I got's this mansion and this potpourri

But don't I look so handsome in these Polo jeans?

Don't I look so handsome in these Polo jeans?

Earl Sweatshirt:

I blow a spliff before the ink dries on the paper

And lately, I don't like shit, I been inside on the daily

Getting wasted as the time that I'm spending high and sedated

I'm putting five in his face, because we don't buy into bullshit

As soon as it's flashing lights then it's kush to hide in the bushes

I do this shit out of spite cause there's niggas that overlooked me forever

I'm more content with dark and stormier weather

Flip the fucking cross on your rosary, we supposed to be better

But here's a toast to your efforts, and don't approach me with nothing

That isn't money or breakfast, I'm close to choking a pussy, pussy

Sweaty Man, you best had bet your bottom dollar on him

With a couple niggas, weighing sess like it's a lot options

15 on me for soda and swishers

And who's the shit, a bag of chips, and a colon decleanser?

I'm over bitches trying to act like I owe 'em a picture

Rather introduce these hoes to Vince who could show you a pistol

Listen, ST was the older initials

Been rap game tighter than boa constricters

Rolling stone like a Boulder raving, I'm so impatient and going dumb as

Disclosing my fucking home location to total strangers

No love in my heart for coppers, blood from my lungs on the sink

Cashing out off the garments, the artist, fuck what you think

Scowl turned black and the carriers could pick

And my flesh when I rest, tell 'em bury me adrift