Beer Money - Mr. Wrong

Half full?

My glass is empty

I crack a bevvy then accidentally make a classic LP

On the type of shit I’ll swear should have made my fans resent me

I’m so amazing, even my whackest tracks are heavy

You probably think I deserve an Oscar

Stumbling, yet I stand with perfect posture when I’m serving vodka

Drinking to my health

I ignore the only opinion that matters

'Cause I don’t even listen to myself

A blessed punk, I drink whatever gets me drunk

Cherry blunt, serial-killing tens of skunk

Simultaneously open holes and cans of Beck’s on my head for fun

When this record’s done, I’ll be getting smashed

Celebrating cause I shifted 2 copies by the second month

(Something something)

I’m still obsessed with hate, in a depressive state

When I clock an empty crate, and I can’t get served

Everything aged except my face

Got KB, now I’m slamming heads in Heaven’s Gate

Fuck a second take, this is it

Middle finger stiff to drinking Cris

8'o'clock I’m in the cypher spitting cider phlegm

By 5 to 10, I’m on my bill drinking Jack Daniel’s in the lion’s den

The inner me is ugly

Caught with my hand inside your mother’s cookie jar, tryna find my beer money

Off my face like this red pattern on my blood-smeared hoody

Nobody that thinks clear trusts me

Appear clumsy, knocking drinks over, and that’s when I’m still sober

Who believes ya stuttering every word?

Throwing up a litre of something that smells like turps

Learn my lesson, and drink another to quench my thirst

When the time comes, I’ll be 9 cups dry, drunk, buzzing off hell on earth

(Talking)