Work Text:
Password: birds
Edited lyrics:
I got them birds, so many birds, it is absurd
I got them P—, so many P—
So many colors, they look like Nerds
When it come to numbers, b—, I’m a nerd
I’m doin’ numbers, b—, I got birds
I got ’em hummin’, I got ’em twerkin’
I got ’em jumpin’, I got a servant
I got a butler, I got a worker
I got a runner, she got a Birkin
I put that h— in the air on commercial
I sent her all the way down with them turkeys
Tiger Woods
In his Sunday clothes
I sell whole birds, I don’t do wings, this ain’t Buffalo, b—
Whole bunch of vultures, whole bunch of crows, b—
I’m the Eagle Street Russell Crowe
And I’m too cold to be a hot boy
And I got birds flyin’ South, boy
Yeah, I’m too bird to be a hot boy
I got them birds by the flock, boy, yeah
I’m too cold to be a hot boy
I’m too bird to be a hot boy
I make them birds sing like choir boy
Free as a bird in the clouds, boy, yeah
I got them birds, birds
I got them birds, word
I got them birds, I got them birds furs
Get ’em and brrr, I made ’em, “Prr, prr”
All these birds, damn
I’m ’bout to serve, yeah
I’m servin’ them birds
Ahead of the curb, yeah
I’m ’bout to swerve
Flag red as a bird
All of these feathers, damn
All these treasures, remember to always measure
Always business, yeah, never pleasure
Remember, always, never
Wings stretchin’, yeah, both directions, yeah, always flexin’
Charge him extra, I got Big Birds
You need Tweety, call Sylvester
Tiger Woods
I got birdies, dawg
If there’s a drought, I snap my finger
All the birds gon’ fall
No discounts, f— you mean?
You talkin’ bird sh—, dawg
Number 33, sell the jersey, yo, b—
It’s Tiger Woods