The Year Crocs Became Cool

The time has finally come for us to acknowledge that Crocs are cool now. After years of being derided and shunned by society, the humble little foam clog has in the span of a year become a hot commodity, dropping one A-list collab after the next, frequently selling out within seconds and popping up on the resale market at a premium markup.

On top of that, many celebs came out as Crocs fans this year, from BLACKPINK’s Jisoo to Lebron James. Even Succession actor Nicholas Braun rocked a customized pair with a tux at this year’s socially distanced Emmys. Major players in the world of high fashion have also started to take note, with everyone from Kanye West’s Yeezy to Givenchy rolling out their own interpretation of the ugly chic clog.

This year alone Crocs has dropped collaborations with Bad Bunny, Justin Bieber, Post Malone, G Flip, Luke Combs, KFC, Peeps, Chinatown Market, Carrots, Nicole McLaughlin, Ruby Rose and more, all of which promptly sold out. In October, Crocs confirmed that they had made $117.2m in retail this year — a fact that becomes all the more impressive when you consider how, according a recent Complex feature, they were the only top footwear brand to see a rise in sales during the first month of lockdown.

Related | MLMA Serves Up Cursed Fashion in Crispy Crocs

We can trace the shift in public perception back to 2017 when Balenciaga’s then newly appointed creative director, Demna Gvasalia, sent a pair of bright pink Crocs with 4-inch platforms and custom charms — or Jibbitz — down the runway at Paris Fashion Week. The stunt wasn’t really out of character for Gvasalia, who would spark the chunky dad sneaker trend that dominated the latter half of the past decade with Balenciaga’s wildly popular Triple S, and previously as the head of Vetements blurred the line between high and low fashion on the regular.

Regardless, Balenciaga’s pair of platform Crocs raised more than a few critics’ eyebrows and became instant meme fodder for a public that up until that point had been used to seeing the foam clogs on the feet of line cooks and your style adverse uncle.

The previous year, Scottish designer Christopher Kane had already unveiled his official collaboration with Crocs, a grey marble patterned pair with sparkly mineral stone Jibbitz adorning the top. Around the same time, streetwear brand Alife also put out a pair featuring 3D-printed New York City landmarks.

Things really started to ramp up when Crocs teamed with Post Malone in 2018. It was a perfect storm for Crocs; not only was the singer/rapper having a breakout year musically, but Post Malone felt like a perfect fit for the brand. Naturally, the collab sold out instantly and became one of the year’s most coveted shoes, reselling for hundreds on the secondary market. Crocs and Post Malone followed it up with another drop barely a month later to similar success, and in 2020 the pair returned just before the holidays for an unprecedented fifth collab, which sold out and kept their flawless win streak alive.

Crocs diversified its collaboration portfolio even more this year, extending not only to music superstars like Bad Bunny and Justin Bieber, but to big name food brands like KFC and Peeps, as well as partnering with Footlocker’s streetwear incubator, Project Greenhouse, for a trio of more fashion-facing collabs with Carrots, Daily Paper and Nicole McLaughlin.

Related | Jisoo Is a Crocs Supporter

“What makes our collaboration strategy so successful and effective is that it’s rooted in authenticity,” Crocs’ Director of Product Line Management Molly Wilhelm says. “We focus on partnering with a wide range of collaborators — from luxury fashion and country musicians to streetwear mavericks and cultural icons — who have a genuine relationship with Crocs and share our values. It’s important that they have a desire to work with us just as much as we want to collaborate alongside them.”

This scattershot approach Crocs has taken to their collaborations has allowed them to work their way into multiple markets at the same time. From novelty collectors to the quirky streetwear set, Crocs intentionally doesn’t play favorites when it comes to their fans, creating a democratized space where all are encouraged to express their individual creativity and “Come As You Are,” according the brand’s new slogan.

At first, most of these collabs typically retail for scarcely more than 10 or 20 dollars more than the list price of a standard pair of Classic Clogs ($44.99 USD), making them one of the more affordable entry points into the footwear market — that is, if you’re dedicated enough to snag them up before they inevitably sell out.

But aside from making headlines, Crocs collaborations have done wonders for rehabilitating the foam clog’s reputation. “We’ve seen how collaborations allow us to connect with consumers who may not have previously thought of Crocs, let alone considered wearing Crocs,” Wilhelm says. “Once they consider Crocs as a brand, they become more open to our footwear. Beyond sales, our collaborations are about driving awareness for our brand and giving customers a new way to try our shoes.”

Crocs has also carried this ethos into its standard line this year, introducing styles that take design cues from past collaborations like the platform Bae, outdoorsy All-Terrain and Venture Pack, as well as putting forth new concepts like the puffer-inspired Neo Puff, and rolling out a slew of new graphic patterns and on-trend colors. Wilhelm explains that the Classic Clog still remains at the core of Crocs’ DNA. “It is the ultimate canvas for creativity, and as a result we have rolled out more silhouettes and trend-focused updates that resonate with consumers around the world,” she says.

Related | Bad Bunny Designed Glow-in-the-Dark Crocs

If there was ever a time to get into wearing Crocs, 2020 was the perfect year for it. Most of us spent our days shuffling from one room to the other, occasionally leaving the relative safety of our vigorously disinfected homes to go to the grocery store, grab your Amazon package off the front steps or walk blocks to find a mailbox where you could send off your mail-in ballot. Entire industries shifted to work-from-home models out of necessity and a majority of our daily social interaction quickly became mediated by Zoom. We stopped dressing to impress from the waist down (if not entirely, if we’re being honest) and shifted our priorities from form to function.

Known for being extremely comfy, fairly inexpensive and easy to clean, the humble Croc became a natural fit. You could use it as a house shoe and make a quick run to the bodega without feeling at least slightly more dignified than walking out in a pair of slippers like you know you wanted to do. There is also a lack of pretentiousness to the Croc that resonates more with our time than a pair of Air Jordans could ever hope to achieve. It’s a shoe that does more than bare minimum and by design invites people to customize, personalize and fully make them their own. Crocs are a shoe of the people.

Looking ahead to 2021, Wilhelm says that 2020 was undoubtedly a big year for Crocs, but their success is anything but a fluke. “Crocs will continue to collaborate with other personalities and brands that make sense for both parties, emphasizing personalization in all that we do,” she says. “Beyond product, the brand will prioritize delivering comfort when and where it’s needed most through philanthropic endeavors. This was a historic year for the brand, but there are exciting things on the horizon in 2021.”

Photos courtesy of Crocs

Trippie Redd – The Grinch Lyrics

Play this song

[Intro]
Yo Pi’erre, you wanna come out here?

[Pre-Chorus]
Yeah, huh, life is like a motherfuckin’ dream (Like a dream)
Fill my double cup up with some lean (With some lean)
Yeah, put my dick in your bitch spleen (Bitch spleen)
Yeah, racks comin’ in evergreen (Evergreen)

[Chorus]
Yeah, hold up, let me pop my shit
Pussy nigga talkin’, we gon’ leave him in a ditch
I’ll kill my brother, pussy nigga, if he snitch
I was outside being bad with The Grinch
Nigga, bad with The Grinch

[Verse]
Yeah, yeah, trapping out the motherfuckin’ Ritz
Yeah, moving bales, nigga, yeah, moving bricks
Fucking on his thot and that bitch a redbone (Redbone)
Yeah, yeah, put the bitch on (On)
I put niggas on like some motherfuckin’ cologne
Fuck nigga, yeah, I ain’t singing, Post Malone, uh
With the gang, we keep a .57 (Buh-buh)
And you know we keep some MAC-11s
I just love me some lethal weapons
Child of God, I’ll send your ass to heaven

[Pre-Chorus]
Yeah, huh, life is like a motherfuckin’ dream (Like a dream)
Fill my double cup up with some lean (With some lean)
Yeah, put my dick in your bitch spleen (Bitch spleen)
Yeah, racks comin’ in evergreen (Evergreen)

[Chorus]
Yeah, hold up, let me pop my shit
Pussy nigga talkin’, we gon’ leave him in a ditch
I’ll kill my brother, pussy nigga, if he snitch
I was outside being bad with The Grinch
Nigga, bad with The Grinch

Yelawolf – Bloody Sunday Freestyle Lyrics

[Intro]
Yelawolf
Catfish Billy
M.W.A. Ghetto Cowboy, motherfucker
Brian Jones

[Verse]
Yeah, never had to walk away from anybody
Always been a body from the jump
Yeah, never been a hater, never gave a fuck about a hater
Never been a punk
Yeah, been an innovator, fuck an imitator
Drop another hot potato son
Take ’em back to feed my park
With Baby D and the Kings of Crunk
Rest in Peace Grip Plyaz, Speakerfoxxx, and Lenny’s Bar
Rest in Peace, Zoo, you ain’t dead but to me you are
Still Dixie Mafia bitch, still waving that flag, I’m
New South in everything I drop, whether I sing or rap, ask Dax
Suit up, you gonna need a haz-mat
Leaving these fuckers chewed up
Like a muskrat in a backpack
I’ll hang up the Ku Klux and I ain’t got to act black
I’ll crack a cracker like I crack a plastic bag of Cracker Jacks
Pull up your bra, quit spilling your guts
You better cork your bo-ttle
You feeling yourself, like jerking off to my tunes
You willing to bet, I’ll make a splash like pot-holes
After it rains, with your name just like a snot nose
You’ll be running, trying to escape what’s coming
But the exits blocked, you’re fucked, oh to be a woman
There’s only one Michael Wayne, there’s only one Klever
As for the other white boy from Gadsden (pst), whatever
You’re welcome, now take that petty diss and run with it
Fuck around and I’ll surround you like circumferences
You build a house of hate around what I have brung to this
Game, I’ll make that place your home
Like the Sons of Mumford did
Lame, I’m all the way up, woke, turnt
You think you flame, you all the way suck, choke, burnt
Bitch I’m on fire like holiday nuts, holding firm
You want the go, I’m all the way buck, you’ll learn
Hop in the backseat bitch, Hip-Hop is snoozing
You could use an Uber, like a student pupil
I’m a teacher, reach ya hand for the ruler, I’ma bruise your ego
Abuse and move onto the hall, against the wall stupid
Who’s the man? Who’s the tutor?
Letters flying till the ghetto crying
The police are saying now, “Who’s the shooter?”
Here I go, with a trenchcoat and a black rifle
Ten toes down up like a light pole
Middle finger up like a Black Rhino’s horn
I was born for the storm, I’m at home in a shit cyclone
Never let bygones be bygones
Rather I’d say, “See ya later, adios”, bitch
Rapping obese is just bygone
Never thought the culture that I loved would be this sleazy
His videos all look alike, no wonder they can’t see me
Is this the guy that said he was the hottest white boy
Since the one with dyed blonde hair, what the fuck
Hold up, G… easy
I can’t let this Tom Cruise lookin’ motherfucker just paddle by
Don’t know if I’m watching Vanilla Ice or Vanilla Sky
Marshall Mathers may have ignored you
But if you want the smoke, bring the foil
I’ll boil you till the kettle’s dry
Have a nice day suave
I’m a different breed, I’m a wolf, OK?
Got so many styles I could be a wardrobe boy
So little boy flows some O.J poured in the glass
With your buttermilk pancakes
Mama’s little helper, daddy’s little bae
Put the bae bae kids in my Chevrolet
Brought the pepper spray and a banana for AKs
Bitch holler, “Mayday, mayday”
Then take it to the bank, it’s another payday
Oh you a baller, well take the ball and
Let me here kick that shit Pelé
The nerve of the shit they say, I’m permanently amazed
And your whiskey sucks, fuckin’ one sip
I wanted to go straight back to AA
Who else? I would diss Post Malone but he don’t even rap
Fuck it, fuck Post Malone, just because
Let’s see if he answers back
All that change, tits, and funk chill bill
And the cowboy boots and hats
Damn Postie, why can’t we be friends?
Our clothes already match
Poser, biter, appropriation thief
Give a fuck how many records you sold
Every fan you made is a leaf off of my tree
Boy you’re my seed, another mullet in the gang
With the teeth I see
I just picked a bone with Post Malone
And did it all on a Beastside beat
Dribble through the middle up
Crossover on ’em like I’m in the NBA
Look I don’t really give a fuck
Tell me what do I gotta lose anyway
Still mobbin’ in the pickup
Threw a middle finger out the window when I wave
Trunk Muzik III bruh, you gon’ know how I feel about MGK
Beethoven is rolling over in his grave
Cause I’m a conductor anaconda
With the musical energy, electrical wave
Prodigy of an anomaly, Shady
Bumping daily something crazy, someone save me
Nothing made me something baby
No one’s playing, fuck you pay me

[Outro]
Trunk Muzik III

Post Malone – 92 Explorer lyrics

[Intro]
Ohh, yeah yeah (wow), yeah yeah, yeah, yeah
We got London On Da Track

[Verse 1]
Hunnid and twenty, come catch me
Forties inside of my belly
Shouldn’t be driving, I’m faded (skrt, yeah, yeah)
Rock that Nirvana, my favorite
Damn I forgot what her name is
She in the front seat head bangin’ (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Money counter sound somethin’ like a chopper, chopper
Speakers system bumpin’, fuck your fuckin’ block up
Used to mock him, now his cars some Bentley mock-ups
Killer drop a call from lockup
If you buy that Echo, why you lyin’? You broke
Got a knot in my tote, get you smoke like a stove
Keep on ridin’ my coat, your new shit is a joke
Why you bitin’ my flows? What you tryna be, Post?

[Chorus]
Ooh, baby, ooh, baby, go on, keep it spinnin’
Ooh, yuck me up, I don’t want no romancin’
Ooh, baby I see these muhfuckas glancin’
When my whip start, then my wheels keep spinnin’
Ooh, baby, ooh, baby, go on, keep it spinnin’
Ooh, yuck me up, I don’t want no romancin’
Ooh, baby I see these muhfuckas glancin’
When my whip start, then my wheels keep spinnin’

[Verse 2]
She used to shoppin’ at the mall (ooh)
I’ll teach lil baby how to ball
I hit Rodeo, spent like 40 G’s (wow)
Four hunnid pairs of Gucci socks
I lost all my friends, made a lot of foes
Made a lot of M’s, made a lot of O’s
Open up the safe, I’m just with the bros
Cop the 458, cost me 250
Man, look at all my ice (ice)
I hit your main thing twice (your main thing twice)
Take a word of advice (a word of advice)
Break up with that ho (ho)

[Chorus]
Ooh, baby, ooh, baby, go on, keep it spinnin’
Ooh, yuck me up, I don’t want no romancin’
Ooh, baby I see these muhfuckas glancin’
When my whip start, then my wheels keep spinnin’
Ooh, baby, ooh, baby, go on, keep it spinnin’
Ooh, yuck me up, I don’t want no romancin’
Ooh, baby I see these muhfuckas glancin’
When my whip start, then my wheels keep spinnin’

[Bridge]
Cold wrist frozen
Got sacks, Goldman
Bought the bar, Roseanne
No joke, they ain’t playin’

[Chorus]
Ooh, baby, ooh, baby, go on, keep it spinnin’
Ooh, yuck me up, I don’t want no romancin’
Ooh, baby I see these muhfuckas glancin’
When my whip start, then my wheels keep spinnin’
Ooh, baby, ooh, baby, go on, keep it spinnin’
Ooh, yuck me up, I don’t want no romancin’
Ooh, baby I see these muhfuckas glancin’
When my whip start, then my wheels keep spinnin’

[Outro]
Yeah
We got London On Da Track

Post Malone – 40 Funk lyrics

[Chorus]
40 got me funky (funky)
I popped a molly (molly), went kamikaze
Another 40
I’m Michael Jordan and bitch, I’m scoring
Drank two 40’s
My bitch is foreign, she got deported
Thousand ounces, police is knocking
Ain’t got no worries (ain’t got no)
Feeling funky
I popped a molly, went kamikaze (kami)
Another 40
I’m Kyrie Irving and bitch, I’m scoring
Drank two 40’s
My bitch is foreign, she got deported
Thousand ounces, this shit still popping
Ain’t got no worries

[Post-Chorus]
40 got me funky
40 got me funky
40 got me funky
40 got me funky (Stoney)

[Verse 1]
I popped a molly, switching lanes
I’ma pull up in this bitch, exotic (skrrt)
Lean in Sprite and gin in tonic
These bitches erotic
She just wanna get inside my motherfucking pocket (yeah)
Another 40, I should stop it (woah)
Two thousand ounces of this shit will make you feel like vomit
But I don’t mind it, I kinda like it
Young and wild
We killing shit, we live this shit
I ain’t go to school
They ask me how I live like this
I did my shit, 20 this year
And I’m only getting older ’til I’m in the dirt (I’m in the dirt)
How I hold a grudge with two 40’s all in my hand (all in my hand)
But pull up on me, try me, you can catch the fade my man
You and your friends

[Chorus]
40 got me funky (funky)
I popped a molly (molly), went kamikaze
Another 40
I’m Michael Jordan and bitch, I’m scoring
Drank two 40’s
My bitch is foreign, she got deported
Thousand ounces, police is knocking
Ain’t got no worries (ain’t got no)
Feeling funky
I popped a molly, went kamikaze (kami)
Another 40
I’m Kyrie Irving and bitch, I’m scoring
Drank two 40’s
My bitch is foreign, she got deported
Thousand ounces, this shit still popping
Ain’t got no worries

[Post-Chorus]
40 got me funky
40 got me funky
40 got me funky
40 got me funky

[Verse 2]
Gimme the 40
So I can be cool, yeah
Pass me the molly, ayy
I wanna them too, no
I can’t get enough
Man, I’m popping them shits and I’m dropping them hits
The music, the liquor that’s why I exist
And the money, but let’s skip the obvious shit
Ain’t living too long if I’m living like this
Early morning waking up with the sweats
Going through shit I ain’t never forget
But nothing I do, will I ever regret
I need me that cheque, I need me that chronic
I don’t remember, tell me what’s my name?
Drinking, swerving in the other lane
Fucking zooted drinking acid rains

[Chorus]
40 got me funky (funky)
I popped a molly (molly), went kamikaze
Another 40
I’m Michael Jordan and bitch, I’m scoring
Drank two 40’s
My bitch is foreign, she got deported
Thousand ounces, police is knocking
Ain’t got no worries (ain’t got no)
Feeling funky
I popped a molly, went kamikaze (kami)
Another 40
I’m Kyrie Irving and bitch, I’m scoring
Drank two 40’s
My bitch is foreign, she got deported
Thousand ounces, this shit still popping
Ain’t got no worries

[Post-Chorus]
40 got me funky
40 got me funky
40 got me funky
40 got me funky

Post Malone – I Fall Apart lyrics

Below are the complete “I Fall Apart” lyrics by Post Malone displayed. These lyrics were added one hour ago.

I Fall Apart lyrics

Oooh, I fall apart
Oooh, yeah, mmhmm

[Verse 1]
She told me that I’m not enough, yeah
And she left me with a broken heart, yeah
She fooled me twice and it’s all my fault, yeah
She cut too deep, now she left me scarred, yeah
Now there’s too many thoughts goin’ through my brain, yeah
And now I’m takin’ these shots like it’s Novocaine, yeah

[Chorus]
Oooh, I fall apart
Down to my core
Oooh, I fall apart
Down to my core
Oooh, didn’t know it before
Surprised when you caught me off guard
All this damn jewelry I bought
You was my shorty, I thought

googletag.cmd.push(function() { var map = googletag.sizeMapping().addSize([337, 280], [[300, 250], [336, 280]]).addSize([0, 0], [300, 250]).build(); googletag.defineSlot(‘/115733527/Lyrics_Inline’, [[300, 250], [336, 280]], ‘lyrics-inline-300×250’).defineSizeMapping(map).addService(googletag.pubads()); });

[Verse 2]
Never caught a feelin’ this hard
Harder than the liquor I pour
Tell me you don’t want me no more
But I can’t let go
Everybody told me so
Feelin’ like I sold my soul
Devil in the form of a whore
Devil in the form of a whore
You said it
No, you said it
No, you said it
We’d be together

[Chorus]
Oooh, I fall apart
Down to my core
Oooh, I fall apart
Down to my core
Oooh, didn’t know it before
Surprised when you caught me off guard
All this damn jewelry I bought
You was my shorty, I thought

[Bridge]
Ice keep pourin’ and the drink keep flowin’
Try to brush it off but it keep on goin’
Covered in scars and I can’t help showin’
Whippin’ in the foreign and the tears keep blowin’
Ice keep droppin’ and the drink keep flowin’
Try to brush it off but it keep on goin’
All these scars, can’t help from showin’
Whippin’ in the foreign and the tears keep blowin’, yeah

[Chorus]
Oooh, I fall apart
Down to my core
Oooh, I fall apart
Down to my core
Oooh, didn’t know it before
Surprised when you caught me off guard
All this damn jewelry I bought
You was my shorty, I thought

Post Malone – Rockstar lyrics

The complete Rockstar lyrics by Post Malone.

Rockstar lyrics

Hahahahaha
Tank God Beats

[Chorus: Post Malone]
Ayy, I’ve been fuckin’ hoes and poppin’ pillies
Man, I feel just like a rockstar (star)
Ayy, ayy, all my brothers got that gas
And they always be smokin’ like a Rasta
Fuckin’ with me, call up on a Uzi
And show up, man them the shottas
When my homies pull up on your block
They make that thing go grrra-ta-ta-ta (pow, pow, pow)

[Verse 1: Post Malone]
Ayy, ayy, switch my whip, came back in black
I’m startin’ sayin’, “Rest in peace to Bon Scott”
Ayy, close that door, we blowin’ smoke
She ask me light a fire like I’m Morrison
Ayy, act a fool on stage
Prolly leave my fuckin’ show in a cop car
Ayy, shit was legendary
Threw a TV out the window of the Montage
Cocaine on the table, liquor pourin’, don’t give a damn
Dude, your girlfriend is a groupie, she just tryna get in
Sayin’ “I’m with the band”
Ayy, ayy, now she actin’ outta pocket
Tryna grab up on my pants
Hundred bitches in my trailer say they ain’t got a man
And they all brought a friend
Yeah, ayy

googletag.cmd.push(function() { var map = googletag.sizeMapping().addSize([337, 280], [[300, 250], [336, 280]]).addSize([0, 0], [300, 250]).build(); googletag.defineSlot(‘/115733527/Lyrics_Inline’, [[300, 250], [336, 280]], ‘lyrics-inline-300×250’).defineSizeMapping(map).addService(googletag.pubads()); });

[Chorus: Post Malone]
Ayy, ayy, I’ve been fuckin’ hoes and poppin’ pillies
Man, I feel just like a rockstar (star)
Ayy, ayy, all my brothers got that gas
And they always be smokin’ like a Rasta
Fuckin’ with me, call up on a Uzi
And show up, man them the shottas
When my homies pull up on your block
They make that thing go grrra-ta-ta-ta (pow, pow, pow)

[Verse 2: 21 Savage]
I’ve been in the Hills fuckin’ superstars
Feelin’ like a popstar (21, 21, 21)
Drankin’ Henny, bad bitches jumpin’ in the pool
And they ain’t got on no bra (bra)
Hit her from the back, pullin’ on her tracks
And now she screamin’ out “no mas” (yeah, yeah, yeah)
They like “Savage, why you got a 12 car garage
And you only got 6 cars?” (21)
I ain’t with the cakin’, how you kiss that? (kiss that?)
Your wifey say I’m lookin’ like a whole snack (big snack)
Green hundreds in my safe, I got old racks (old racks)
L.A. bitches always askin’ “Where the coke at?” (21, 21)
Livin’ like a rockstar, smash out on a cop car
Sweeter than a Pop-Tart, you know you are not hard
I done made the hot chart, ‘member I used to trap hard
Livin’ like a rockstar, I’m livin’ like a rockstar

[Chorus: Post Malone & 21 Savage]
Ayy, I’ve been fuckin’ hoes and poppin’ pillies
Man, I feel just like a rockstar (star)
Ayy, ayy, all my brothers got that gas
And they always be smokin’ like a Rasta (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Fuckin’ with me, call up on a Uzi
And show up, man them the shottas
When my homies pull up on your block
They make that thing go grrra-ta-ta-ta (grrra-ta-ta-ta)

[Outro: Post Malone]
Star, star, rockstar, rockstar, star
Rockstar
Rockstar, feel just like a rock…
Rockstar
Rockstar
Rockstar
Feel just like a…

Babywipe – Ski Mask the Slump God lyrics

Lyrics Ski Maski the Slump God – Babywipe

How is you feeling bro?
Feeling like the Four, I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on the cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my d*ck out
She said “too big, gotta map this”
How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on that cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my d*ck out
She said “too big, gotta map this”.(babywipe)

Ayyyy, water that p***y like baptist
To find my sauce need an atlas
Her p***y hungry and starving
So my d*ck is what I use it as the damn catnip
Rap game on faster than fast so
Be real, all these niggas I might overlap them
Never mind, I just might cap them
Just like a taser I zap them
Shock! I f*ck a b*tch in the dark
My diamonds shine in the dark
Weed deadass smell like a fart
I’m on go just like a cart
You police, I’ll call you Paul, uh, Blart, uh
Try but you never can f*ck my thot
Or milly rock on my block
Okay, Post Malone with that pistol
I see you is the issue
I know that you hard as tissues
See you giggle like tickle
Your b*tch seeking me like missile
Heat sensor on my pickle
You know that I tell no fiddles
But I rhyme right like a riddle.

How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on the cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my d*ck out
She said “too big, gotta map this”.

Map, map, map
You the type to have eyebrow cat scratch
And I’m in the field like baseball bat
And I’m fresh off a lick like an old Tic-Tac
You done f*cked up like you take a step back
Cool cat like a stray in a freezer in the back
Like you’re Jay-Z no Roc-A-Fella holla back
But I’m ’bout the damn money boomerang back
Okay like lisp, is how I speak ’cause I sip
Lean like what’s done on your b*tch
In your mouth I fit a fist
Pistol best friends with my hip
Like T.I. b*tch as a tip
I don’t get head I get lip
The sauce is water I dripped
The sauce is water I, ayy.

How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, b*tch I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on the cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my d*ck out
She said “too big, gotta map this”
How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, b*tch I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat versuri-lyrics.info
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on that cat piss
(You will, regret! You will, regret!)
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my d*ck out
She said “too big, gotta map this”.

I think I’m done (map this, map this)
I think I’m done (map this)
I don’t think I gotta say anything actually
Ayy ayy, ayyy.(babywipe)
Ski Mask the Slump God lyrics
Video Ski Mask

Ski Mask the Slump God – Babywipe

[Intro]
Ayy! CashMoneyAp
Yuh, yuh, yuh, who?
Bitch, ayy! Sauce
Flex wet in the flesh, ayy!

[Chorus]
How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on the cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my dick out
She said "too big, gotta map this"
How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on that cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my dick out
She said "too big, gotta map this"

[Verse 1]
Ayy, water that pussy like baptist
To find my sauce need an atlas
Her pussy hungry and starving
So my dick is what I use it as the damn catnip
Rap game on faster than fast so
Be real, all these niggas I might overlap them
Never mind, I just might cap them
Just like a taser I zap them
Shock! I fuck a bitch in the dark
My diamonds shine in the dark
Weed deadass smell like a fart
I’m on go just like a cart
You police, I’ll call you Paul, uh, Blart, uh
Try but you never can fuck my thot
Or milly rock on my block
Okay, Post Malone with that pistol
I see you is the issue
I know that you hard as tissues
See you giggle like tickle
Your bitch seeking me like missile
Heat sensor on my pickle
You know that I tell no fiddles
But I rhyme right like a riddle

[Chorus]
How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on the cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my dick out
She said "too big, gotta map this"

[Verse 2]
Map, map, map
You the type to have eyebrow cat scratch
And I’m in the field like baseball bat
And I’m fresh off a lick like an old Tic-Tac
You done fucked up like you take a step back
Cool cat like a stray in a freezer in the back
Like you’re Jay-Z no Roc-A-Fella holla back
But I’m ’bout the damn money boomerang back
Okay like lisp, is how I speak ’cause I sip
Lean like what’s done on your bitch
In your mouth I fit a fist
Pistol best friends with my hip
Like T.I. bitch as a tip
I don’t get head I get lip
The sauce is water I dripped
The sauce is water I, ayy

[Chorus]
How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, bitch I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on the cat piss
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my dick out
She said "too big, gotta map this"
How is you feeling vro?
Feeling like the Four, bitch I feel Fantastic
Which one would you be though?
Mr. Fantastic ’cause my money like elastic
Burberry trench raincoat
You smoke oregano, I’m smoking on that cat piss
(You will, regret! You will, regret!)
I’ma be real ya’ know, when I whip my dick out
She said "too big, gotta map this"

[Outro]
I think I’m done (map this, map this)
I think I’m done (map this)
I don’t think I gotta say anything actually
Ayy ayy, ayy

Post Malone, Quavo & Metro Boomin – Congratulations (On Late Night With Seth Meyers) (Live)

[Intro]
Mm-mmm
Yeah, yeah
Mm-mmm
Yeah

[Hook: Post Malone]
My momma called, seen you on TV, son
Said shit done changed ever since we was on
I dreamed it all ever since I was young
They said I wouldn’t be nothing
Now they always say congratulations
Worked so hard, forgot how to vacation
They ain’t never had the dedication
People hatin’, say we changed and look, we made it
Yeah, we made it

[Verse 1: Post Malone]
They was never friendly, yeah
Now I’m jumping out the Bentley, yeah
And I know I sound dramatic, yeah
But I know I had to have it, yeah
For the money, I’m a savage, yeah
I be itching like a addict, yeah
I’m surrounded, twenty bad bitches, yeah
But they didn’t know me last year, yeah
Everyone wanna act like they important
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
But all that mean nothing when I saw my dough, yeah
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Everyone countin’ on me, drop the ball, yeah
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Everything custom like I’m at the border, yeah, yeah
If you fuck with winning, put your lighters to the sky
How could I make sense when I got millions on my mind?
Coming with that bullshit, I just put it to the side
Balling since a baby, they could see it in my eyes

[Hook: Post Malone]
My momma called, seen you on TV, son
Said shit done changed ever since we was on
I dreamed it all ever since I was young
They said I wouldn’t be nothing
Now they always say congratulations
Worked so hard, forgot how to vacation
They ain’t never had the dedication
People hatin’, say we changed and look we made it
Yeah, we made it

[Verse 2: Quavo]
I was patient, yeah, oh
I was patient, aye, oh
Now I can scream that we made it
Now everyone, everywhere I go, they say ‘gratulations
Young nigga, young nigga, graduation
I pick up the rock and I ball, baby
I’m looking for someone to call, baby
But right now, I got a situation
Never old Ben-Ben Franklins
Big rings, champagne
My life is like a ball game
But instead, I’m in the trap though
Pot so big, call it Super Bowl
Super Bowl, call the hoes, get in the Rolls
Top-floor lifestyle, Huncho and Post
Malone, I gotta play on my phone, aye
You know what I’m on, aye
Huncho Houdini is gone, aye

[Hook: Post Malone]
My momma called, seen you on TV, son
Said shit done changed ever since we was on
I dreamed it all ever since I was young
They said I wouldn’t be nothing
Now they always say congratulations
Worked so hard, forgot how to vacation
They ain’t never had the dedication
People hatin’, say we changed and look we made it
Yeah, we made it

[Outro]
(Hey, hey
Hey, hey
Hey, hey
Hey, hey)

Post Malone – White Iverson (Remix) (feat. French Montana & Rae Sremmurd)

[Intro: French Montana + Post Malone]
You know what it is when you hear that, haaaaan?
Double OT
Post Malone
I’m a new breed
Montana! Montana, haaan

[Verse 1: French Montana]
I’m surfin’, surfin’, I’m surfin’ on you
Wavy, I’m wavy, I’m wavy on you
Started from the block, yeah I was broke, I
Didn’t give me no choice but slingin’ that coca
Dealt with the hand I was dealt like poker
Came back with the 4, 5 like Michael Jordan, like Jordan
Started rappin’, they was laughin’
Bought a spaceship, bought a mansion, with J-Lo in the Hamptons
Now I’m dancin’, I bought me a crib with a lake
Purple drank like grape, bitch jump off like Blake
Diamonds lookin’ like steak
They ain’t gettin’ real money, since I was so young
Montana!

[Hook: Post Malone]
Saucin’, saucin’, I’m saucin’ on you
I’m swaggin’, I’m swaggin’, I’m swaggin’ oh ooh
I’m ballin’, I’m ballin’, Iverson on you
Watch out, watch out, watch out, yeah
That’s my shot, that’s my shot, that’s my shot, yeah
Spendin’, I’m spendin’ all my fuckin’ pay

[Verse 2: Post Malone]
Cigarettes and a headband
Commas, commas in my head, man
Slumped over like a dead man
Red and black, ’bout my bread, man
I’m the answer, never question
Lace up, learn a lesson
Bitch I’m saucin’, I do this often, don’t do no talkin’
My options right when I walk in, jump all them Jordans
I’m ballin’, money jumpin’
Like I’m Davis from New Orleans
Or bitch I’m Harden, I don’t miss nothin’
Fuck practice, this shit just happens, know y’all can’t stand it
I have it, I’ll never pass it, I work my magic
High average, ball on these bastards, it makes me happy
It’s tragic, I make it happen, and all y’all Shaqtin’

[Pre-Hook: Post Malone]
White Iverson
When I started ballin’ I was young
You gon’ think about me when I’m gone
I need that money like the ring I never won, I won

[Hook: Post Malone]
Saucin’, saucin’, I’m saucin’ on you
I’m swaggin’, I’m swaggin’, I’m swaggin’ oh ooh
I’m ballin’, I’m ballin’, Iverson on you
Watch out, watch out, watch out, yeah
That’s my shot, that’s my shot, that’s my shot, yeah
Spendin’, I’m spendin’ all my fuckin’ pay

[Verse 3: Slim Jimmy]
Yeah, Slim Jimmy
I spend it as I get it, I’m ballin’ with no limits
Fuck practice, I’m the illest livin’
Ain’t no games or gimmicks, I’m defyin’ physics
Flyin’ through the air, saucin’ with the hair, SKRRT SKRRT
Matte black Range, big diamond earrings
Keep a nigga on his game, I’m ballin’ like AI
Somewhere in LA, hot, secret Sunday, I
Blowin’ all the bank
Young, Iverson
When I started ballin’ I was young
I need that money like them rings I never won
I need that money for them rings I never won
SremmLife!

[Pre-Hook: Post Malone]
White Iverson
When I started ballin’ I was young
You gon’ think about me when I’m gone
I need that money like the ring I never won, I won

[Hook: Post Malone]
Saucin’, saucin’, I’m saucin’ on you
I’m swaggin’, I’m swaggin’, I’m swaggin’ oh ooh
I’m ballin’, I’m ballin’, Iverson on you
Watch out, watch out, watch out, yeah
That’s my shot, that’s my shot, that’s my shot, yeah
Spendin’, I’m spendin’ all my fuckin’ pay

Joe Budden – Uncle Joe lyrics

[Intro]
It’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here

[Verse 1]
It’s Uncle Joe, peep while the story is told
Look like I’m the last nigga to know I got old
Which is fine, as Uncle Joe I wear that age like it’s a three piece suit
Can’t get to this type of flavor without a season at true
Every Sunday at the spades table slamming cards, hella hard
Spitting over Ruff Ryder or Roc-a-Fella bars
I’m telling stories of Khaled before he Terror Squad
Different from what they selling y’all, fuck am I telling y’all?
It’s Uncle Joe, don’t wear Supreme and jeans
Came up with Nitty and Web, I knew Supreme in Queens
And Ross dropped “B.M.F.” and y’all would sing in the streets
I’m a little different, I was thinking of Meech
Check this shit
I used to drive around the tunnel in the Lexus with the snub
Before Power 105 was sneaking breakfast in the club
Listen, young niggas learn up, I don’t do the kiddie shit
I’m with the turn up, I just like Biggie shit
Fuck is you saying?
Only been a sensation for only two generations
I’m like the minute the weigh in fight ready
Friends are forever changing
And all them niggas I came up in the game with
Done fainted in the entertainment I swear
[Interlude]
They say the older you get in life the faster it happens. Me, I feel like I could still fuck with 25 year olds and their mommas if they cute enough. So when I walk up in the day party and said, “what up?” all I hear is “Uncle Joe” in this bitch

[Verse 2]
Same way you know when you up, you better know when you slip
Studies based of years hanging with the boa constricts
I’m from an era where we ain’t deal with all the trolling and shit
When we see you we just go in your shit
It’s repercussions for actions, we demanded more
Don’t understand it, dawg
Question all these niggas with words they never answer for
Staring at you new niggas still from an older state
It’s feeling like Oscar Robertson watching Golden State
Y’all hear Post Malone and think of “White Iverson”
I think of Karl and how he could’ve got the title won
I keep my life off Instagram like my private some
I open albums for the credits, y’all just Tidal ’em
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in this bitch
When there was problems with the game I got to sculpting that bitch
But they just kept talking about my hoes, I don’t even notice the shit
I got a stash I never go in and shit
Same emotionless kids
Stoic as if I’m just a motionless gift
Normally in the club tucked in the corner, no one to mind me
You niggas go and look for these bitches, they come and find me
Y’all praise it, I be disgusted
Cause I don’t want the points for scoring on easy buckets
(And what else?)
And I don’t count her if she ain’t alter my weekly budget
Or if she Snapchat every portion that we in public
That’s awful, she need to cut it (she need to cut it)
Bria’s in the W with Sandra
The escorts fuck with me, that’s a double entendre
Both got fat asses, one’s a double cup monster
Both used to mad attention, it’s my subtlety they fond of
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in this bitch
Nigga

Joe Budden – Uncle Joe (Rage & The Machine Album) letras

[Intro]
It’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here

[Verse 1]
It’s Uncle Joe, peep while the story is told
Look like I’m the last nigga to know I got old
Which is fine, as Uncle Joe I wear that age like it’s a three piece suit
Can’t get to this type of flavor without a season at true
Every Sunday at the spades table slamming cards, hella hard
Spitting over Ruff Ryder or Roc-a-Fella bars
I’m telling stories of Khaled before he Terror Squad
Different from what they selling y’all, fuck am I telling y’all?
It’s Uncle Joe, don’t wear Supreme and jeans
Came up with Nitty and Web, I knew Supreme in Queens
And Ross dropped "B.M.F." and y’all would sing in the streets
I’m a little different, I was thinking of Meech
Check this shit
I used to drive around the tunnel in the Lexus with the snub
Before Power 105 was sneaking breakfast in the club
Listen, young niggas learn up, I don’t do the kiddie shit
I’m with the turn up, I just like Biggie shit
Fuck is you saying?
Only been a sensation for only two generations
I’m like the minute the weigh in fight ready
Friends are forever changing
And all them niggas I came up in the game with
Done fainted in the entertainment I swear
[Interlude]
They say the older you get in life the faster it happens. Me, I feel like I could still fuck with 25 year olds and their mommas if they cute enough. So when I walk up in the day party and said, "what up?" all I hear is "Uncle Joe" in this bitch

[Verse 2]
Same way you know when you up, you better know when you slip
Studies based of years hanging with the boa constricts
I’m from an era where we ain’t deal with all the trolling and shit
When we see you we just go in your shit
It’s repercussions for actions, we demanded more
Don’t understand it, dawg
Question all these niggas with words they never answer for
Staring at you new niggas still from an older state
It’s feeling like Oscar Robertson watching Golden State
Y’all hear Post Malone and think of "White Iverson"
I think of Karl and how he could’ve got the title won
I keep my life off Instagram like my private some
I open albums for the credits, y’all just Tidal ’em
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in this bitch
When there was problems with the game I got to sculpting that bitch
But they just kept talking about my hoes, I don’t even notice the shit
I got a stash I never go in and shit
Same emotionless kids
Stoic as if I’m just a motionless gift
Normally in the club tucked in the corner, no one to mind me
You niggas go and look for these bitches, they come and find me
Y’all praise it, I be disgusted
Cause I don’t want the points for scoring on easy buckets
(And what else?)
And I don’t count her if she ain’t alter my weekly budget
Or if she Snapchat every portion that we in public
That’s awful, she need to cut it (she need to cut it)
Bria’s in the W with Sandra
The escorts fuck with me, that’s a double entendre
Both got fat asses, one’s a double cup monster
Both used to mad attention, it’s my subtlety they fond of
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in here
It’s Uncle Joe, it’s Uncle Joe in this bitch
Nigga