Earl Sweatshirt featuring Vince Staples & Casey Veggies – Hive

Earl Sweatshirt featuring Vince Staples & Casey Veggies – Hive
Pre-Order the new album DORIS on iTunes! http://smarturl.it/DorisiTunes
Director: Hiro Murai
Producer: Jason Colon
EP: Danielle Hinde
DP: Larkin Seiple
Editor: Isaac Hagy

http://www.oddfuture.com

© 2013 Tan Cressida, Inc., under exclusive license to Columbia Records, a Division of Sony Music Entertainment

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Comment (44)

  1. God damn I loved Vince Staples's verse long before I actually knew who he was, and coming back and listening to this after several years and hearing how absolutely icy his flow is… bruh.

  2. There aren't many rappers like these two guys out there. Let's appreciate this masterpiece.

    They could flow on that beat forever if you let them.

  3. Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick sucked
    Quick buck, maybe a gold chain
    With that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men
    They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished
    Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen
    The description doesn't fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it
    In turn, these critics and interns admitting the shit spit
    It just burn like six furnaces writ it
    It affixed learning them digits, and simultaneously
    "Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, isn't he?"
    One adolescent, fucking six-nigga energy
    And crawling down fax like a rich nigga centipede
    Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash account
    Stamp and shouting, thrashing, these niggas done let the Kraken out
    Crack-a-lackin', like snap, crackle, poppin' your ammo off
    Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga
    (Sweatshirt, nigga)
    '87 roof top, Bronson
    Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic
    (Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up)
    (Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose)
    Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop
    (Rolling with that flow swamp)
    Catch me over stove top
    (Rapping to that coke rock)
    (Passionless in old Jive clothing
    With them doors wide open)
    (Dim the floor lights, focused)
    Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch
    From a city that's recession-hit
    With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake pennies in
    Desolate testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish
    But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay pregnant
    Breaking news: death's less important when the Lakers lose
    There's lead in that baby food, heads try to make it through
    Fish-netted legs for them eyes that she cater to
    Ride dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to
    So here I sit, eye in the pyramid
    God spit it like it's truth serum in that beer and then
    Disappear again, reappear bearded
    On top of a lear, steering it into the kids' ear again
    Provider of the backdrop music
    For the crack rock user and the mascot, Earl
    Rawer than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop
    Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the matchbox
    Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder than?
    Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and shit
    Spitter of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling
    Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit
    '87 roof top, Bronson
    Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic
    (Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up)
    (Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose)
    Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop
    (Rolling with that flow swamp)
    Catch me over stove top
    (Rapping to that coke rock)
    (Passionless in old Jive clothing
    With them doors wide open)
    (Dim the floor lights, focused)
    Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch
    Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain't about shit
    Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz
    Bulletproof outfits, weapons concealed
    I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real
    Selling thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is
    Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers
    Send chills up spines of fat bitches after
    Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they
    Live and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money
    Little boy told me when it’s time to ride, they’ll send them for me
    Ain't nobody scaring me, niggas ain't prepared for heat
    Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit
    If this was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless
    Nine-four, would've had them walking down Death Row
    First is when the best go, hate is what the rest do
    Voice inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you"
    So it's Raging Waters season
    That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless
    Everybody hard until it's only God they seeing
    Kittens soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don't believe it
    But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the chrome
    Heat your home like Southern California Gas, police pass
    Tell 'em "Free Smalls, " off Palm with the heat drawn
    Strapped up long as the chief for police armed
    Raised where the beasts are, north of the Beach
    A couple streets past Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks
    Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court case
    Here to save you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain
    Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch

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