Lyrics for Unreleased (Machine Gun Kelly Rapping on the Couch) by Machine Gun Kelly :
[Verse 1]
Yo, I haven’t wrote a song in a while, I guess I’ve been down
Guess I didn’t have the energy to pick a pen up
sh*t, I barely have the energy to crack smiles K-Mars
Smoking gas
Similar to back in the class, I was barely gonna pass
With a flask full of Jack and a book full of raps
And an ear full of laughs
Similar to back when I barely had some money for the gas
Asked pops if I could borrow the car today
Someone asked me to be on a song today
And they said I could do a couple shows with ’em
If I help ’em sell a couple tickets at the mall today
But, ay, I know you want to see me keep a job
Keep school first, blah-blah-blah
But all I got is this one shot and I’m takin’ it to the top
If I don’t got to load up another box in this pansy truck
f*ck that cause next year the rent’ll be up, f*ck that
And my bank is empty, bruh, f*ck that
The world tryin’ to set me up, f*ck that
So I bounce back like jumpin’ jacks
Take a pill and see how my lungs react
And I don’t give a f*ck if it kills the brain
Because reality itself is killin’ me, man

So I need a ounce of weed and a house for me
Everyday when I wake up
A hippie b*tch with no makeup who loves to f*ck and roll Js up
Fat ass and lil’ A-cups, you know just what I’m sayin’, cous’

[Verse 2]
And I’m like, ‘f*ck fifteen minutes, I’m tryin’ to live infinite’
I don’t got a big yacht, my legacy’s all I got
So I call three b*tches and my dealer on the same cell
‘Til I pull up to the (something) Place Hotel
Felt like I had maids in the room
Girl’ll clean the dust off the surface like brooms
sh*t, you know I got to start my day off wit’ a shot
Cheese, eggs in the middle of the pot
Throw a little leather on the wrist
‘Bout four rings on the fist, b*tch, why I need a watch?
And it’s always my time
Even back before the young man got signed
Even back before the mixtapes got heard
I was in the streets, f*ck being online
And if you want turn up, we can turn up like a motherf*cker
I paid fifty for a shot like, ‘f*ck it’
Small price when you keep it one hun’ed
Shootin’ dice on the red carpet, gettin’ blunted
Never change for the public, y’all are disgustin’
Look at me courtside next to Kate Upton
Look at me pourin’ five cups of White Russian
Speakin’ of which, b*tch, I just came through customs
And speakin’ of wits, I been dreamin’ that this do redeem
All those years I was treated like sh*t
To receive the awards that my peers seem to get
Received a convertible top on this whip
b*tch, I feel like Fif’, time to get rich or die tryin’
Tired of heatin’ grilled cheese up on my iron
It’s time to get three hoes or more, ‘Frankie’ Lymon
The weed man could call it good timin’

Cause I need a ounce of weed and a house for me
Everyday when I wake up, b*tch
I need some Hennessy and a house for me
Everyday when I wake up