Centurion Lyrics - Doris - Earl Sweatshirt

I feel like the Tom Sawyer for real niggas 

Looking for a problem, revolver under the Hilfiger 

No bluff needed, we will kill niggas 

So try me if you want, bruh, I promise I'm with all of that 

Late night shooters, got 'em thinking Johnny Carson back 

Trying to win this white man game with my heart intact 

All off a dollar and a dream that I really had 

Kind of hard to sleep when your thoughts is in the streets 

North north is the side where my family stay 

Big Baby Jesus, I can't wait 

Until the money coming in, spend it all on guns and rims 

I ain't nothing but a nigga, ain't no reason to pretend 

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Kept the sticky in the Stussy pouch 

Ski mask, bloody 'Preme hoodie tossing doobies out 

The window of the hoopty, night black as Paul 

Mooney at the movies but the moon was out 

Food was always optional 

Eating nothing but hard punches to that abdominal 

Closed fist chronicles, sold sniff, Momma knew 

Baggies laying 'round, peanut shells at a carnival 

Stomping clowns, welcome pussy niggas to the romper room 

Buckshot'll cover a whole torso like a parka do 

In a park at 2, plotting, trying to garner loot 

Split it with his big roll dog, call him Marmaduke 

Searching for a shard of truth and found uh 

Couple bucks bought his cousins lunch 

Another Dutch, stiff collar on the button-up 

Hood, rich, wild, and 'bout to run amuck 

Road to hell paved with cement, covered trussled drugs toughen up 

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Alright, okay 

If that's how you truly feel about it then 

Vinny Stape, they stupid, think the city safe 

Until that little bindi placed, head shots, red dot 

Block as hot as Denny plates, fed watch, Fed watch 

Opinions only pity based, deep in the Civic with the 

Evilest niggas this side of the Mississippi 

All courtesy of Vincent from niggas who plot against 

Ear-L-double-S, hear shells from the Tec 

Hear in full-effect, eat a dick and cut a check, bitch 

Few niggas I'm on a first-name basis with 

Address me by the alias, that trunk weighted like he 

'Bout to catch a case again, eighths louder than the voice of 

Satan that be plaguing him, bruh, I'm caking 

Whether Hell or bad weather, high water, I'm a sailor-type 

Assailant for the paper, living like I met the maker twice 

Hit it 'til I'm faded right? Mami, take a hike 

And treat it like you fucking shaking dice, bitch