Cadence Weapon True Story Lyrics

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I can’t believe he’s fucking her
This plays out like a romance novel involving hearts and hovels
I heard homegirl does the head bobble
For any John in the district, city or county
I sop up the goods like Bounty
Like I heard she got on his head like a bounty
Now even though I heard he’s gay
He’s got a show on the 8th, won’t you come see him play?
It’s the too-snug fit, you can see his cell phone imprint
Covered by stonewash, labels and armor
And though he is a charmer
This is held as a defense mechanism to deflect his thoughts of inferiority
And I’ve seen him with Wilding and you know what that means
He’s a clean cut scenester archetype on the mean
And the median is pressed with obsidian breath
I'll talk shit to anyone who’ll listen, who am I?

You bore me now, who whored me out?
Allegory, I label it true story
Put those paints you claim to good use
Make a message and hope to find proof

I speak good facts to the people at the Strat
But I only run Rumours like Fleetwood Mac
The in-fighting is incredible, his writing is illegible
But I think the word in paragraph the third is Stephanie
Rhymebook liebook, joker smoker
He hopes poker pals will catch the Roker like Al
You know, lose weight like drug stickups, thug pickups
He wears Nikes, has he heard his own songs?
I Frey like James when I rip
But the only difference is I didn’t make up any of the shit
But you know, I was at a house party and he made an iPod playlist
And he was so pretentious, I mean, he refused to speak
Well, I never introduced myself, but he’s awful weak
He’s the famous one, he should initiate and tweak
Conversation, he’s like one-third diplomat
A real Santana type…


Cadence Weapon called her a bitch
And claimed that her miscarriage was a scam, he’s collared like a priest
I only say peace because I say what I mean
I’ve never hated anyone who’s ever hurt me
Blackouts and boozeathon brodown baller blockers
Break boundaries around the rumor mill shifts
Beat the rumbles with a switch and the murmurs get it too
But there’s only so much that one man can prove
I will argue that you don’t know Sheri like I do
Everything you’ve heard is probably not true
Every single word is pointed against you
You’re akin with the firing line, dead generals
In general, I’m fed in lead intervals
And OD like TO, you seek bros to smoke me
But hope streams from below
Middle name Theo


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