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Earl Sweatshirt – EL TORO COMBO MEAL Lyrics

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[Verse 1: Mavi]
Man
Lost my dawg to the staircase, took the highest spot on the podium
Ghostin’ niggas, probably smokin’ to the thought of knowin’ us
They loss a part of growin’ up
Spurned is learned, I had to keep a wedge to get out of the rough
Fuses clipped for nuisance, disrespect ’cause we carried enough
I promised I’d bury the grudge, preparing the carrion grub
Larry Oops, I was lost in the alley, in the air but not stuck
I spun ’til the lost of my grandmama buried the dunk
Send ’bout a prayer a month, through the above
Niggas moody but imbued with the funk
Better shit to do than play with food
The rhyming Rubik’s for fun
But I do what I want, ayy
And I rue what it was later, a looter as such
Confusingly up with paper
I’m shootin’ ones with the judge if he sentence my brother
Been with him, muzzled us from the cradle
So we goin’ to the grave with this shit
If we join the second line
The ancestors’ll hand us a drum to load the second time
Somethin’ scary ’bout airin’ out the shit I compressed
The fare gettin’ fairer now, the cost is
An arm, leg, an arm, leg, and a head
In all bread, the conquest for text, I’m pawnin’ the rest
My Bompton partner spawn when donning the red
I’m all on they neck ’til my car park is pardoning French
Spar with a few niggas, sparkin’ at the larger percentage
What’s alternate when the losses come as often as wins?
An imposter clique thick
Don’t got a job, I only ball off pick-six
I’m fraught with friction, in July, we had shit lit as Christmas
Hollins been sensed niggas been lyin’, but we ain’t gon’ mention
Boo hit the stu’ and started sweating’, told her this the kitchen
You knew the rules
And we knew how to shoot the loopholes, jugo, beaucoup loot
And my kin and ‘nem got the cannon, you gon’ juke or boogaloo?
I been spinnin’ around the answer
Non-definitive, I just crammed it
Outward gifted, inward feel damned
I took my lumps, my bruises, grooves
What the fuck are you to do?

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
Every time a nigga didn’t spot me
I had to figure out my own thing
Now we at the precipice droppin’
Harry Potter with the Dub-D’s
Magic hands, nigga, what cheese?
Had a chance, didn’t crush me
We gon’ get it by all means
Rest in piece to my Ras G
Raw Fruit in the box, seeds
Let go, then I got wings
I’m seein’ red, I’ma charge
You seein’ red ’cause you salty
I keep the tears out my mind reach
I put my fears in a box like a prayer that you won’t read
Spirited Away the whole thing
Peerin’ away, I won’t leave
See you starin’ into old beefs
Ticket booths where they told me
Thickest thorns on the roses
Pistons roarin’ like I’m Rasheed
Pistons roarin’ like I’m Ben Wallace
Pistons roarin’ like Chauncey
Fill up somethin’ ’cause I been drivin’
Every time a nigga didn’t spot me
I had to figure out my own thing
Now we at the precipice droppin’