Colossal Lyrics

[Intro]
(Ooh shit, that’s a Danny G beat)

[Verse]
You better hear this if you haven’t heard shit
The name is big Sweet and I’m a certified wordsmith
If you don’t know me, you should listen to the gospel
They call me “Saint Sweet”, I’m the rapping apostle
I make a lot of moves, not a lot of them are lawful
If I’m not on the track, I guarantee the song’s awful
I don’t wanna give you the impression that I’m docile
Fuck around with Sweet and get turned to a fossil
All these bums think they’re banner till the chop cooks their waffle
But I’ll put the strap down and punch you till your jaw’s full
So many hoes in the crib, you would think it was a brothel
Not one skinnie minnie, I like the booty colossal
My girl caught me slipping and texted me a novel
I watched Irene crush a Perc’ and snort it up the nozzle
I don’t look up to rappers, these fiends are my idols
But when it comes to the music, I think I’m due for a title
My wave’s about to be tidal, I put that on the Bible
You’re idle, I’m a creative but I’m playing survival
One thing to know about Sweet, I like talking choppy
And I’ll kick a bitch out if she doesn’t do it sloppy
I never pillow talk, you won’t catch me getting soppy
You could try and be like me but I’m really hard to copy
When a opp runs up, I just yell, “Oh toodles”
Grab the Mystery Mouseketool and bust out his noodles
All the hoes know my songs, something like Yankee Doodle
Don’t nobody know your name, you can look me up on Google
[?] loud like a bugle, blowing Lemon Cherry Strudel
You can’t even cop that shit, I heard you like to be frugal
Everything in this bag will dilate your pupils
I’ll have my Russian shooter whack you for forty thousand rubles
The way I talk is intricate and my rhyme skills are infinite
Smack stimulants and then I use digital instruments
You ain’t even with the shits, all you bums are impotent
Tryna be like me? You got a mindset to implement
You couldn’t come close, not even by an increment
My growth is immanent, I’ll talk crunchy in every incident
Can’t you see me and the microphone get intimate?
I tell her all my dirt but you can tell the feds I’m innocent
Sliding on hams but I don’t do the Cha Cha
When unc’ bumps the rock, he goes, “Boomshakalaka”
I only weight a buck fifty but hoes call me “big papa”
Tote heat like Texas Pete and greet the beat with sriracha
And anything I do, I like to sell high and buy low
‘Cause I need four pockets full like I’m Rylo
Got so many ‘bows, I could fill up a silo
If music doesn’t work out then I’m selling Fido
Starting to get a ego, this shit feels like a my show
Blowing hoes’ backs out, something like the chiro
Pull up on a ham and take le buffs, no Shia
Caught a body in the D then went and ordered a gyro