DJ Big Wiz - Bold lyrics

[Hook: Aesop Rock] You don't wanna be some old dude Shaking a fist at the new bold youth You were the new bold youth, now you some old dude You don't wanna be some old dude Wagging a finger at the new bold youth You were the new bold youth, now you some old dude [Verse 1: Aesop Rock] And I know you know I'm s**er proof Mediate the over under, leaning over onion soup And soda... Armchairs, Underoos Camera's on the entrances, TV's on The Bugaloos Speaking of, what's up with you's? Y'all tried chilling? No, whole time bow tie spinning, like "Hzzzzzz..." Cough cough sputter, not to worry, there will always be another I wanna say I nurtured all you little green settlings But these lapses get the guillotine snapping, it's distracting All-righty, play me what bumps Yuck, I'm getting too old for this, shucks Aes stay gold for this much Gray and mostly tits up Old man winter, eyes on the prize Give the lowest of lives, the highest of fives 'Cause... [Hook] [Verse 2: Rob Sonic] Wa**up breezy, it's the brush fire Put Vicks on my chest like I'm Russ Meyer I love Breyers, but I'm dumb tired When they say "based," I say "safe" like an umpire They say waders are lame with the brush binder Daryl Hall hair is bald as a bus tire Janitorial and we're sore when his funk fibres Start moving pip-squeaks like I'm Keith on a drum riser Up in the club krumpin' - what up shorty? "Yo, what are you, like 40?" That's a whole other story with rips in the root page And if age is just a number it's bugging it's room mates Like dudes, keep it down you're driving me Bruce Wayne And I'm three floors down and still hearing your 2Chainz Oh that's One Direction well regardless dude It's not Nas getting live at the barbecue So tomorrow dude just keep the drama calm Because it's not funny when you call me Big Papa John [Hook] [Verse 3: Busdriver] I am not here at the Raise A Roof or Parallax for feral cats I'm in the same age group as Darryl Mac Ask these slender teens if the denture cream is in stock Engendered of remembered dreams in my inbox Of [???] denim jeans or Gwendoline's like, "Pick rocks" Now my bum knee and limbs pop like rimshots And twenty-something's hard to compromise movie tropes While my aftershave is some h*mogenized Uzi smoke [???] optimize the booty stroke While my sole possesion is a fossilized dookey rope I mean I got etchings in my worry lines But how the dream rings off the the precipice of thirty-nine It's depressing, some pre-dating toe tags Spell checking in a suicide note drafts Y'all pull vintage tees out of them tote bags I got a vintage me that is visibly cro-mag