Hacker - Death Grips

Hey, no ins and outs

You come out, your shit is gone, bitch

Goin' back to Tangier with some Jordans and a spear

Post-Christian shit, post-chicken-or-the-egg-addiction shit

Pass the sherm stick, Neo-reality

Be the freak you wanna see, just don’t follow me

I’m on a journey to the center of three

Grab your fucking chain and drag you through the bike lane

While everybody’s like (Nooooo!)

I got this pregnant snake;

stay surrounded by long hairs

A plethora of maniacs and spiral stairs

Make your water break in the Apple Store

Sink or swim, who fucking cares, cut the birth cords

Press send, yeah, thick

Gaga can’t handle this shit, headed for the Sammy Davis wing

Throw up a black hole at the entrance of Linens-n-Things

On the way, never call it a day

Visit Tesla’s grave for the ninth time today

Still on the way, bigger wigs

When you come out, your shit is gone

When you come out, your shit is gone

When you come out, your shit is gone

When you come out, your shit is gone

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

When you come out, your shit is gone

When you come out, your shit is gone (I'm in—)

When you come out, your shit is gone

When you come out, your shit is gone

You’ll catch a jpeg to the head, über reach

You’re an intern, I’m Wikileaks

Most loved, therefore most hated

Come and knock on the door, we’ve been waiting for you

Game changer, reclusive-aggressive

Ying-ing and yang-ing, noided

Info warrior, Jack the Hacker

The rolling stoner, puffin' on disaster

My existence is a momentary lapse of reason

Got the DNA of gothic lemons

Shred it thirteen times out of eleven

Your bad ideas are the ATM, shed my skin

Leave it for the homeless to sleep in

Prodigal, fuck that, nautical

Teachin' bitches how to swim (I'm in—)

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

Teachin' bitches how to swim

Teachin' bitches how to swim (I'm in—)

Teachin' bitches how to swim

Teachin' bitches how to swim

Now backstroke, through your k-hole

Don’t run, you might slip

The table’s flipped, now we got all the coconuts, bitch

Burmese babies under each arm

Screaming beautiful songs

The cray-cray ultra-contrarian

Havin' conversations with your car alarm

When you come out, your shit is gone

Soon your crew will be serving sandwiches named after me

Vietnamese style, fool, please

Front row at the mass games, untraceable by name

You speak of us in certain circles, you will be dethroned or detained

Gone, gone

Your shit is gone, gone

When you come out, your shit is gone

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I’m in your area, I’m in your area

I know the first three numbers, I’m in—

I know the first three numbers