Lyrics:
the day we die
Hit after Hit
Feel
Like hitman
Assassin on this
Beat
I'm just a beast
Best ya ass likes
Creed
Don't play the boy
I'm the next topic
I turn
talking pay, get the fuck up out my face
I'm lying to myself, just to make you feel like I'm okay
I'm always in pain, but I cover up, by making cake
Ayy,
only by gouging out my creed
Unpredictable
c stranger to a strangers pull
I don't play the games you play
I ain't arrangeable
I generate original
a bloody canvas on the wall
But that's where I stand tall, i'm surrounded by the snakes in the grass now there's no one to call
Play the game likes it's
a model
Put in a pack, now we smoking on throttle
Got him hit with a pump
Now we smoking this gas
Smooth with a chop' like I play for the Jazz
Had this ho
greeted me saw I was a creature
Can see by my demeanor, get a quick feature
Going spazz on the beat will give you a seizure
Hit a prick like John Wick, I'm
on the glass
Spontaneous and kinky
Oversized diamond fitted on my pinky
Never stinky, smell of Creed Adventus
Hit the Lounge, Oddie Capo my apprentice
Had
gon' hear that forty spit
He speakin' bars from his heart and them bullets they gon' hit
AK muzzle like an opera singin' if you talking shit
Her
the SEO strategy
At least two thousand followers, at least ten thousand streams
Oh, viral marketing
We paid per click and by commission, wrote the hits
it off to Callon since you niggas wanna shout
Talk to em B
Uh how it look
Make a play By the book just made em hit play without a hook
Well put any
the power OP
No nigga fucking with me
V2:
Outside south side yeah
Kid been grinding alone
Outside my pride yeah
I been getting by on my own
Hit rock bottom
Who done left their kid behind and sent a check
Cause they can't bother, real shit
I was raised by my brother and my mother
I'm unique, every problem
hits than Gary Barlow
More skills than Ronaldinho
We'll be making 10 tens the dough
Multi-Platinum albums and sold out shows
up above
If you coming at me just know that you getting bodied by singer named Truelove
I be so proud of me
You cannot talk to me,
Album of the year
Yeah, this is what's happening right here
Go to MySpace, slash Little J X
Check him out, y'all
This the official mixtape before the album
It's
hoes
who knows where the night might go, hit the doe
like yeah, blinded by the glare of the strobe light
see something i like its going down on sight
harder to play me
Than to fiddle backwards
Don't act like you knew my tactics
Cause when it hit's the fan
You know I stand last
I see through your true
chicks and get some digit's
And the DJ's playing them hit's
"Oh, this my jam! This my shit!
We don't know a word to a verse
All we know is the chorus
lightin' the green
I need the bucket, even though I look right in the beam
Judge find out it's my team, he boost they bails
Niggas throw us on they album
It's the return, East Atlanta, Santa!
Off the wall, off the chain
Off the top, I'm off the leash
So many freaks coming by the spot
Had to move,
This is your album, so that means you definitely got to get funky, so run it
[The D.O.C.]
Swinging, singing a brand new rap
On a rhythm concocted by
stalker
Words thrillin', so real they're chillin', the hit author
Gettin' louder than a shot gun, you don't want none
Rhyme pays was the name of the album
don't hit me up first, man
Ya'll must got me confuse I take niggaz by two I break niggaz in two, man
Ya'll fake niggaz is thru I hear ya album is poo
I be lookin' like bye-bye
By the way, namaste, where your momma stay?
Tell her Ronnie comin' round the way, lucky day
I be comin' with the God body
Me
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