Lyrics:
how there's 4 billion of you and only a handful of guys willing to pay your cell phone bill or Cashapp you $40 every time you ask for Taco Bell
Who
more guys, sucked eight, nine men
I'm takin' two by fours, to our eight by tens
Bitch, it's you I tore, out the frame, I win
Put up a new high score,
know what's up
I said here's some candy canes eat 'em up
???? bonapatite with a condom in a tree.
All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth
Therefore the sauna, I live by the oath (hey, yeah)
Got to get the money bag, yo (yeah)
Fifteen hundred, two-three times, then four (yeah)
Nigga better
Thursday, June 28, 2:02 A.M
â??I just called you, you said that you were on your way
but there's just one problem... I'm all the
way to fucking
Project style, ate government cheese for a while
Pop Duke wasn't there 'cause he had to do a bid
so momma love stuck with these bad ass kids
She
rizzle dizzle dazzle, tears up the band like ?
I blows with my flows bust your nose kick the ass of pros
who ain't, got the how-knows, to make
mothafuckas right quick
Huh, 9am, ain't even got my ass out of the bed
Pick up my phone and I sent you a text, huh
I ain't even brush my fuckin' teeth yet
You
Bendin' corners up and down wayside,
From greens road to that Antoine drive,
Crew on da side playin' N-B-A live,
I'm too cool for school ridin'
but his right hand scuba dived
Don't die by a sword that you used to shine
You can drown for your king, you don't know about Ophelia
Cah we got iron,
represent my hood and my homies for mad blocks
Here to slaughter all you fake ass Biggie's and 2Pac's
Two glocks, it ain't enough, you better hit
What you really talkin' bout
You ain't shit, but a bitch, damn
This is just a freestyle for your information
I'm really sittin' in my room, hella
maraud
By any means
Make sure we eat
Nigga that been the law
Never switch up for Bitch
Or
Kriss Cross ya dogs
Never in life turn yo back on bros
That’s
the time on your kettle is
It's my time, when I said it, I meant it
Back with another album, told my accountant I'm gonna clean up
Business flight, so I
[Verse 1: Lloyd Banks]
Around here them boys, 'dem don't play (uh)
You can hear the sounds of gun spray erry day
I give 2 fucks by what a bird say
Bro just bought 'em a gold plated pistol shit
It look like he won him a Emmy
Only two of us with three or four straps in this bitch
It's a stolo we
holy war, it be hard to dip and dodge
Police squads tryin to bogard, we rip and rob
The boulevard ain't safe for your kids, that's how it is
In
Buddha-God, the sage shore
Salute the lyrical tear-up, we never fearin you
Scarin you, too tough for the wack, we never hearin you
(You stuck by two
tuck in your chin
Pail by your bedside
Now the breathing begins
Oh, oh God
Just let me get through this last one
If you let me make it
If you let
tuck in your chin
Pail by your bedside
Now the breathing begins
Oh, oh God
Just let me get through this last one
If you let me make it
If you let
yeah, 48 hours for a 24-hour check
Lining up the moves praying that they all connect
I Got that blade 4 niggas trying to come 4 my neck
I call
of a boxing match
Marine biologist looking for a shark to catch
Work or starve I want sirloin steak
I wanna live large and I got what it takes
It takes two
down like that for the nine-seven
This is my dialogue on this album
It's Magoo's album featuring me, Timbaland
'Cause he's so ill, I can't even rap
and good to go, call me a Dayton rater
No love for hoes, cause they some muthafuckin playa haters.
Chorus (4X): My shit is pro and good to go, call
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