Sweaters - Nacho Picasso

No 9−5, fuck the funny wages

Plus I’m inked up like the fucking funny pages

And when I’m geeked up I be making funny faces

We be paper chasing meet me at the money races

No niggas on the dollar so I think my money’s racist

I blow it all on tats so I think my moneys tasteless

My body is a timeline, my face is something ageless

My tats is like fine wine, your tats is something tasteless

Ten hour back tat I’m awfully sore

Show your whore, rub it in like aquafor

This a tattoo parlor not a tattoo store

Get a hundred tats then I add two more

I increase the peace just to add to war

I’m masterpiece in Jordan IV’s

Paper made ink pours inside my pores

I’m black like the moors, but I act like the doors

There’s is cool, but ours is better

They got sleeves guess we got sweaters

I’m a masterpiece, he just lines and letters

Me I change my skin like I’m Hannibal Lector

Catching up to Nacho, nigga fat chance

I been getting tatted, you just blew your advance

I’m feeling like Nirvana, tattoo’s on my hand

We been wearing flannels, putting stamps on our tramps

In my city with these tats, I’m the tramp to a yamp

Got a vulture on my neck, and a shootout on my back

Niggas moving elbows like an on block attack

Nacho be so fly call it launch pad mcQuack

Ink spots on my body like a Rorschack test

Body marked up, yeah, like a fourth grade desk

In the northwest, like a NorthFace fest

Your girl asks if I want, more face?

Yes

Now I look like a coloring book

Fly as Peter Pan now her phones off the hook

If it was a color you could color me crook

Chicks tryna read my tats like a little black book