Tru Dudes

Childish Gambino

Album Sick Boi

Verse 1

Is it really that bad that my clothes is tight?
That I hydrate babes like Pedialyte
That I stay rock hard like a meteorite
Thought your homeboy here was an idiot right?
Well, ya thought wrong, I got flavor
I rock shows with the blue lightsaber
I hit dimes but also date eighters
I make moves, blow up like Al-Qaeda
I’m in kicks that you can’t buy yet
Ya kicks okay like your name Wyatt
Care Bear Clockers, pink highlighters
Haters wanna snatch my heat like firefighters
Boys out there think they just like me
Naw naw, y’all funny, y’all from UCB?
Y’all standin’ in line, I’m in VIP
Y’all know shit ’bout me like TIP, hah!


Ooh, bum bumbumbum bum bumbumbum

Verse 2: MC Chris

Think your voice’s funny man, that’s kind of hilarious
I’m the rapper makin’ noise when there’s shadow in your area
I’m like a damager cause I’m a little loquacious
I do it for the hotties with the bodies bodacious
I’m high pitched, might flip if ya diss my node
Think Chris ain’t the shit, you can kiss my chode
Weak ass sales, not too early to boast
Seriously bro, hand over the security code
Because my rhymes so fresh, green grocers’ gotta spray ’em
Fired all my lawyers cause I didn’t wanna pay ’em
From the PM to the AM I’ll slay ’em with the sawed-off
Make a little money and I’ll smoke the marijuana
MC without Glover is Murtaugh without Riggs
Jam and peanut butter with the crust cut off for kids
One smokes Kinds, the other smokes Mids
Let’s mix it up a little like the DJ did
Bacardi and Coke, black and white cookie
Smokin’ in the alley cause you know we’re playin’ hooky
We’re up to no good, please don’t tell our mamas
Don’t mock us


cause we got this for Obama

Verse 3

Sicker than Old Yeller, money like bank tellers
The chicks that I’m with are thicker than Nutella
Y’all need to switch quick and get with a sick fella
Cause I’m bout to go Rihanna like I’m an Umbrella
Come over to my place, we can cut like shears
And make some mistakes like Jamie Lynn Spears
I’m nasty? No. Forward? Yes
I’m hip to the game, you’re a rook like chess
My money so long that they call it John Silver’s
Your money so light that it fluff like pillows
Boutique killers, you can see
They close up shop when the clerks see me
I’m not Kanye, but my collar’s popped
Cause the bro’s like soda, I shit you not
This shit’s bright orange, Fanta shade
You got the yellow face, that’s my lemonade
I’mma try to stay tight like girls that fuck hard
Stay in the Bay with green like Brett Farve

Hook x3

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