(feat. Wiki)

[Part 1: AM]

[Verse 1: Wiki]
Nineteen, still gettin' kicked out the crib
Ripped off my bib, spit out my food, hiccup and piss
Urine burnin', I could smell the liquor in this
Cats always tryna' pick up the fist—"Duff this dude out"
Rappers stoop just to get to your crib
Now it's like bruised face, loose walk, too sauced
Distraught thoughts on my corpse on the asphalt
Back when I’d slack off, rock my slacks of my ass half-off
Every time I rap I blast-off
Back when I catch court I always had sports
Dippin' on cops in my track shorts
So tell my mom I had to make it right
I lie every night about the lime-light so I could lie at night
And tell my pops I gotta take advice
Keep my head screwed on tight, abuse these mics
See me, I’m the contusion type
A cat to smack the mic
Against my fuckin' head when I'm losing hype
RATKING, never losing hype, no
Smack king and I do it right, no
RATKING, yeah, I do it nice, woah

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
Bitch, I skated before I rapped
If you take me before your captain, bet 20 hots on your daddy
That someone could Noila Clap 'em
Probably cold and passive
Cause Pops was the one that got to me
Feeling down like he passed it
And when I'm cornered, it's action, I was kinda out the game
Momma put the quarter right back in the slot
In '09, we took the 7 to the Dussy 17 to the block
Bitch, if yo' nigga had Supreme, we was the reason he copped it
And nowadays I'm on the hunt for mirrors to box with
And some pretty bitches that ain't trip if it's a hit and run
I got the gold cause I don't do the crying, bro
She Mario, I'm tryna keep the whining to a minimum
Piggies come, bet I'm splittin' quicker than I finish rum
Find me some Indica, nuggets on my fingers
And my shirt like they was chicken crumbs
The room spinnin', finna yak if I don't hit the blunt
Got the chin waggin', slim chances of me getting up after this
Mind in the trash next to where my fuckin' passion went
Dodge fanatics, half-a-Xanax when I'm traveling
Six hours or more, brick out on the tour
Got kicked out of the morgue, spit cattle manure shit
Shit, rally the Horsemen, tally the corpses

[Part 2: Radio]

[Instrumental]
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AM // Radio Lyrics

Earl Sweatshirt – AM // Radio Lyrics

(feat. Wiki)

[Part 1: AM]

[Verse 1: Wiki]
Nineteen, still gettin' kicked out the crib
Ripped off my bib, spit out my food, hiccup and piss
Urine burnin', I could smell the liquor in this
Cats always tryna' pick up the fist—"Duff this dude out"
Rappers stoop just to get to your crib
Now it's like bruised face, loose walk, too sauced
Distraught thoughts on my corpse on the asphalt
Back when I’d slack off, rock my slacks of my ass half-off
Every time I rap I blast-off
Back when I catch court I always had sports
Dippin' on cops in my track shorts
So tell my mom I had to make it right
I lie every night about the lime-light so I could lie at night
And tell my pops I gotta take advice
Keep my head screwed on tight, abuse these mics
See me, I’m the contusion type
A cat to smack the mic
Against my fuckin' head when I'm losing hype
RATKING, never losing hype, no
Smack king and I do it right, no
RATKING, yeah, I do it nice, woah

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
Bitch, I skated before I rapped
If you take me before your captain, bet 20 hots on your daddy
That someone could Noila Clap 'em
Probably cold and passive
Cause Pops was the one that got to me
Feeling down like he passed it
And when I'm cornered, it's action, I was kinda out the game
Momma put the quarter right back in the slot
In '09, we took the 7 to the Dussy 17 to the block
Bitch, if yo' nigga had Supreme, we was the reason he copped it
And nowadays I'm on the hunt for mirrors to box with
And some pretty bitches that ain't trip if it's a hit and run
I got the gold cause I don't do the crying, bro
She Mario, I'm tryna keep the whining to a minimum
Piggies come, bet I'm splittin' quicker than I finish rum
Find me some Indica, nuggets on my fingers
And my shirt like they was chicken crumbs
The room spinnin', finna yak if I don't hit the blunt
Got the chin waggin', slim chances of me getting up after this
Mind in the trash next to where my fuckin' passion went
Dodge fanatics, half-a-Xanax when I'm traveling
Six hours or more, brick out on the tour
Got kicked out of the morgue, spit cattle manure shit
Shit, rally the Horsemen, tally the corpses

[Part 2: Radio]

[Instrumental]
Songwriters: Patrick G. Morales, Thebe Kgositsile, Miles Khalil
AM // Radio lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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