Lyrics:
at your engineer:
A Japanese guy with glasses on with straight leg jeans and a beer
Got you on Hit Factory with four groupies with acne
Thinking you
MK, you like a wizard with this shit
Hey, look
Let dividends be dividends, let bygones be bygones
Hit him up, that's two for two, hit his ass, it's
cheap, I might go to Barcelona
I can't make plans so don't hit up my phon-a
I've been trapped for three days like I'm Jonah
Every day I drink another
the hood
But them rappers don't live there they live in Hollywood
It ain't about where you at, it's about where you from
If you ever go back they might hit
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
with his head
Bullets kick his back, if he try to duck & run off on his mans
Check me out nigga, I did 25k off like three albums by myself nigga
They
Yeah I be smokin sativa
Im smokin that indica
Roll upp some weed aye
Plug gave me 100 grams of that wax man
It was gon in like 3 days
Im rollin em
So all hail or get tossed towards Hell, whatever y'all feel
Briusin' niggas, confusin' niggas like Chip Fu from the Fu-Schnickens
Hit you with
Nectarine scent, she suckin on my pp
Abominable beats but the bars are phenomenal
Abdominal, call a hoe, hit her once, let her go
Whip the vette, skrt skrt
This isn't your average song
This isn't your average song
Your average song is three minutes long with a consistently smooth groove
a catchy tune
we're -- "treated with respect"
Chorus: ultramagnetic mc's
Two brothers with checks, yo that caddy is fly
San francisco, harvey
{repeat chorus 3
can't compete
Pussy nigga check my physique
I'm a freak, made 3 albums in 6 months
I'm so unique, I'm elite
I'm prestigious, got two hoes in the same
in to put 'em in check (bitch)
And she givin' out pussy for free
I'm embarrassed to say she my ex (bitch)
I just might have to fly out my ex
Hit all 3
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
[Verse 1:]
Bitch, I stepped out tha car and i'm ready for whatever
Got my muthafuckin glock and i'm aiming at yo' sweater.
When I hit you in yo head you
cocky till gun a gun cocking
Thats enough watching from the sidelines, peeking my eye by
All I knew i had to jump in, I'll be a nice guy
Three albums in I
Don't be surprised, look in the sky, yeah we finna fly
I got a suit, I got a tie, now I'm finna slide
Do a drive by, in the new ride, that shit apple
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
Now it's about to be talked about
You're gettin' slapped by my grammar
Vocals like a hammer with roots from Alabama
I'm under
Even if I made an album
With a Punjabi hit-squad
Clash me, I'll make you jump like Kris Kross
Make a man know, that I'm not a nimrod
And if you still
Still fightin paranoia
Anxiety at an all time high
Better days that I'm pushin for
Are what help me get by
Sheez still roll brown haze by
the music in they ears, they would have lost it
The seventh album by a musician they both revered
First time this planet heard it, let's call it a world
on my guccis
We only smoke the best the trees Look like they grown by coogi
The hairtriggers bald head
You bet not play me loosely
In the backseat theres
I'm workin
And if I shoot mine it's on purpose
Let them haters die they deserve it puttin in overtime
Still posted at the Amoco
Judge givin cash 3
Everytime I hit a mic, I do it with delight, causing fright
My name must be Lee because I cause a spike
In the amount of records played, records made
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