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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Jarren Benton
Jarren Benton
Performer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Analogic
Analogic
Producer

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Ain't no more fucking Funk Volume
All you **** get it Mr. Benton
I got them pussy **** shitting kittens
I guillotine the fucking competition
Hey, what up to my **** sitting in prison
I'm still drunk and high, I'm on prescription
Drugs
Jesus, who the fuck I gotta sell my soul to to get it popping, ****?
And when you see me, keep it moving, show me love
And don't be asking me no questions about Hopsin, ****
[Verse 2]
Oh, Lord, I'm on my own, I'm 'bout to have a nervous breakdown
Ass up face down
That's the way the industry fuck you ****, it's Eastside A-Town
We'll turn like A town
Here's the bully, beat a motherfucker's ass on the playground
Your homeboy like, Jesus, he's a sick son of a bitch, a maniac
Play dead, stay down
My homeboy still stirring up the pot
Remember we ain't have a fucking pot to piss in
And we was sleeping on a cot
Now a **** popping holes, eating up the cock
I got a new trap, James Deacon on the rocks
And that's a metaphor for rapping on a stock
I snipe a **** with a sniper rifle
Have him looking like he JFK
The motherfucker leaning out the drop like, yeah
[Verse 3]
Tell these bad whores Mr. Benton on the market
I hops in that pussy, you know I'm not talking like Marcus
I body the booth and the beat, oh, now I smell a carcass
I tear up the club, snap his neck, break his bones and his cartilage
[Verse 4]
Jarren stop talking like that, oh my God, you have children there
I give a fuck what you say, bitch, we 'bout to be billionaires
[Verse 5]
I ran out all of my fucks to give
We go so hard, y'all ain't fucking with this
Fuck is you doing, bitch, I'm not a human
They want you found, so you gotta keep moving
I ran out all of my fucks to give
We go so hard, y'all ain't fucking with this
Fuck is you doing, bitch, I'm not a human
Funk Volume dead but the bullet keep moving, ****
[Verse 6]
Yeah
Ran outta fucks to give, enough of this
I hit you in your upper lip
If you ain't for this
Don't rush the kid, a MC going hammer, don't touch my shit
With Jarren Benton, that's my **** since two zero one, one
I'm running circles around you ****, I'm playing duck, duck
Goose, I been on a mission for a million bucks
And any model that's a fan probably getting fucked
With no label, yeah, I got my own squad
WTF Gang hold it down, no prob
Wait, that's only me, I been thinking 'bout bringing ****  on
But these other rappers suck like a blowjob
Hit a **** till he need a fucking nose job
I'll have him crying like a grandma watching soap ops
You holding a drink, don't spill it on me
I'll slide you out your threes, glass breaks, yelling, opa
A young ****, that's FUTURISTIC
Dude the sickest, don't care who your clique is
Wanna battle then you'll lose with quickness, lose your bitches
Still spitting like my fucking tooth is missing
Who you kidding, no fucks given in my verse
He's exterminating everybody, Hitler to the Germans
I bet they all in they grave turning
Think I give a fuck, then you got the wrong person
[Verse 7]
I ran out all of my fucks to give
We go so hard, y'all ain't fucking with this
Fuck is you doing, bitch, I'm not a human
They want you found, so you gotta keep moving
I ran out all of my fucks to give
We go so hard, y'all ain't fucking with this
Fuck is you doing, bitch, I'm not a human
Funk Volume dead but the bullet keep moving, ****
[Verse 8]
What's up with Homegrown, man?
Ain't no Homegrown no more
I ain't got nobody by my side, yo
Split with my management, now I am all by myself
Don't even got a side ho
I flew from Connecticut and I went West like I'm Fiefel
Then I moved in with my team to a spot that I couldn't afford
Till my debit was dry so
Got to recouping my life as I lie low
Telling myself in my head, it's alright, yo
Page after page, I would crumple it up
And then throw it away, I was losing my mind, yo
I was pacing around in my studio
Punching the walls and the floor like a psycho
Then I channeled my energy and I dropped Webby's Lab 2
Now I'm back on my pyro
With that fire like Spyro
You can see the smoke rise from the speaker wire
Got a E-Z Wider, Sour D and lighter
Just for crazy white boys that get Peaky Blinders
Front seat recliner till my life is golden
Now I'm on my lonesome, no label, no financial backing
Nobody assisting promotions, no one
But I gotta keep going
I still got my homies that had me from jump
They stealing a Sprinter, we passing a blunt
When we hitting the road, and we ripping these shows
'Cause it's all that we know
So we have to keep up with the schedule
Show after show after festival
Now I'm back counting my decimals
Paying my taxes and stacking like I should've always been doing
You live and you learn
I'm expecting to go from in debt to exceptional
Money amounts in accounts, and I'm killing it now
I've taken the wheel back right before other people
Could run my business into the ground
[Verse 9]
There ain't a fuck I'ma give, yo
Got my middle fingers up in the window
In the ring till the day I die, and that's word to Kimbo
Jarren tell 'em how the shit go, yeah
[Verse 10]
I ran out all of my fucks to give
We go so hard, y'all ain't fucking with this
Fuck is you doing, bitch, I'm not a human
They want you found, so you gotta keep moving
I ran out all of my fucks to give
We go so hard, y'all ain't fucking with this
Fuck is you doing, bitch, I'm not a human
Funk Volume dead but the bullet keep moving, ****
Written by: Christian Webster, Jarren Giovanni Benton, Unknown Writer, Zachary Lewis Beck
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