Pet Sounds lyrics

[Intro: Mac Miller]
I wrote this under the influence of narcotics
Yeah
Play them horns
Young, raspy god
Yeah, um

[Verse 1: Mac Miller]
Why you f*ckin' up my good mood?
The Bimmer used but it look new
Your raps dry as overcooked food, my sh*t is kaboom
I took shrooms, now I'm playin' dodgeball in a crooked room
So, address me as your superior
Mind on delirium, ice-cold interior
Stirrin' up the chaos, I'm the cause of the confusion
Young, grown-ass nuisance with the strength of twenty-two men
Pukin' all over your brand new accoutrements
Lucrative, assassin them, shoot to miss
I turn my body into Eucharist, nail me to a crucifix
If I'm gonna kill myself, then I'ma do it big
Scalin' Mount Vesuvius
We don't even know what bein' human is
And what's a man when he lose his wits? Useless as the news at 6
Foolish, we nothin' but a bunch of rotten and stupid kids

[Chorus: Mac Miller]
I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you, punch you)
I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you, punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f*ckin' face (Pow, b*tch)
Hahaha (Yeah), yeah
[Verse 2: Mac Miller]
You live inside a computer
In 2014, religion turn to rumor
Maneuver through the world in a Uber
Born to be a loser to the world, I'm just a tumor they'll remove
If I would've done my schoolwork
I could've been a Oklahoma Sooner with a golden retriever I named Cooper
Work part-time at Bruegger's
Workin' on securin' me a future, the American dream
Big titty b*tches guaranteed a spot on the team
Bust inside my pants, leave a spot on my jeans
Clean it up
Why are pretty girls always mean to us?
I'm the Godzilla of mess
Leave my house forgettin' that I'm still in a dress
Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow
Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam, blam, blam
Gun sounds, gun sounds

[Chorus: Mac Miller]
I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f*ckin' face (Pow, b*tch)
Hahaha (Yeah), yeah
I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f*ckin' face (Pow, b*tch)
Hahaha (Yeah)
[Verse 3: Sean Price]
I'm worldwide, but I smack clowns local
Gunshots, M.O.P. background vocals
Fire in the hole of the designer of your clothes
On the up and up, you f*ckin' up, why you f*ckin' with those?
Planet of the apes, the survival of the goons
I'm so dope, you could put the lighter on the spoon
I'm tightest with the tunes, need a verse and I write it, son
Master sh*t with no practice, b*tch, Al Iverson
f*ck the king of New York, in my presence they all peasants
The king is all talk
Whoever holdin' the crown
Better pass that sh*t to me, P, I'm holdin' it down
f*ck if you the greatest
A lot of rappers got killed, f*ck around and be the latest
Your bars warm, my sh*t smokin'
I pitch Knicks at my pace, I'm Chris Copeland
Yeah

[Chorus: Mac Miller]
I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f*ckin' face (Pow, b*tch)
Hahaha (Yeah), yeah
I wanna (I wanna), I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna (I wanna), wanna, I wa—, I wanna punch you (Punch you)
I wanna, I wanna punch you in your f*ckin' face (Pow, b*tch)
Hahaha (Yeah), yeah