Still Bimpin - Spose

Shut your fat face

I gotta blurt it in a verse because the twerps is throwing dirt up on my name

It’s Peter Sparker, known to grip it

Quick to skip a parking ticket, double digit, if I get it up in Maine

I got jokes, I’m never funny with the written

Maybe you heard about it

Sunny disposition, with the urine clouded

You’re Derrick Rose on the toilet, making bull crap

Handing me the mic is like the ball to a fullback

Already busted in, too late to pull back

Still got the itch like I been wearing a wool mask

P. Dank’s the symbol to know

I got the nimblest flow under the Timberland cloak

You wanna roll with the evergreens?

Better be dope!

Think you can Park and catch Rec?

Ha, Leslie Knope!

I wanna kill every rapper ending lines with «yo»

Quick to flick a Humpty-Dumpty, leave him dripping with the yolk

And same with these cats ending raps with letters, B

That’s like admitting that you think I’m better, G

You’ll never be as def as me, you wanna end my reverie

They wanna catch me separately and take all of my recipes

They’re yearning for my expertise and burning all my effigies

And lying to the referees and crying to the deputies

I’m thinking, «slow down, lady»

My rhymes dirty as the floor at the ho down, baby

My circle never sounds square any go-round, Amy

Each LP, I got the speech healthy

I’m doing magic tricks with the hand they dealt me

‘Cause I take fan bases, I don’t take selfies, still bimpin'

Still bimpin' in the year one three

It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be

I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be

Now I give it to you peeps to peep, so check it out

Still bimpin' in the year one three

It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be

I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be

He probably made it on the 303

Being true when dispensing my vocals

Got me the dude who invented bifocals

All up in my wallet, bumpin' Illadelph, ill as Hell

Clean bill of health, gorilla smell, still in Wells

I’d rather be smart than cool

Sippin' screwdrivers hammered out in Sanford but I’m far from tool

I’d rather be a good dad, than in the manure

In the sewer, evildoers, cheese-chasing with the hoodrats

So I’m raising my daughter

Her toes pruny in the bath as the raisins I bought her

Mics torn like Achilles, to pay the bill-ies

I went from blazing Phillies to raising Lilys, for really

But you know my steez

Watching Jeopardy while I smoke my trees

I met Mike Be in the year '03

And if I ran for president I bet he’d vote for me, I’m still bimpin'

Still bimpin' in the year one three

It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be

I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be

Now I give it to you freaks to peep, so check it out

Still bimpin' in the year one three

It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be

I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be

I bet he made it on the 303

I was wannabe who turned to an anomaly, my policy is always state facts

Because I’m the only me

So if I tell it how I smell it, never embellish, I could make great tracks

Man, look I came from nothing

So it’s somethin' when I’m bumpin' Smashing Pumpkins when I’m ridin' on a jet

My etymology is

Kept the mic close as Ghostface to Wallabees and always broke a sweat

I stay repping for the Jeff who got the new subs in the old whip

Bumpin' Spose shit on his way to the brew pub

Rappers say they scoop nugs like Snoop does

And they’ll inflict harm ‘cause they got more arms than a group hug

But fuck that, I don’t want the cool points

I just rock the show, get the money, smoke dual joints

But thinking that my rhymes aren’t awesome?

That shit’s forbidden like items at an auction

Because I grinded form the ground up

Back when hashtags wouldn’t pound us

In this spit shit, I met more dicks than the town slut

Back when my bank account was zero, even if you round up

But, I kept grinding like teeth while asleep

Skipped the beach for the beats, no belief in defeat

All my peeps wanna sneak, wanna see Pete deceased

‘Cause I’m on the road more than I’m in the streets

I’m still learning, incomplete in my dome

Repeatedly honed by two women I greet at my home

When I’m reading my poems, that’s me in my zone

I got bars on the tongue like I’m eating my phone, I’m still bimpin'

Still bimpin' in the year one three

It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be

I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be

Now I give it to you freaks to peep, so check it out

Still bimpin' in the year one three

It’s Peter Sparker in the place to be

I got this beat from my man up in Waterville, his name’s Mike Be

I’m sure he made it on the 303, with an NPC

(M-M-Mike-Mike Be)

What’s my man?

Mike Be (Mike Be)

What’s his name?

(Mike Be)

(Mike Be the beatboxer)

(Mike-Mike-Mike-Mike-Mike Be, Mike Be, Mike Be)

Shout out to the whole P. Dank

EA, Cam Groves, Lady E, Shane Reis, Doc Astro

O-O-O-O-Ock Cousteau, let it go, let it flow

S to the P to the O, known to rock the show and then get the dough

Piece in the Nissan whip

You got chicken nuggets, I’ma need a piece of that shit

Break me off some barbeque sauce, hard to get lost

When you get this GPS all up on the iPhone

Dope rhymes off of my dome

They wanna steal all of my poems

Why’s that?

‘Cause their poems suck

Hope somebody shoots their dome up, bloaw!

Leave 'em looking like a donut

I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding, don’t kill people