Lyrics:
them twenties and tens, I'm keepin' them pink and them blue ones (yeah)
How he your shooter? On God, he know he ain't shoot none (shoot)
My stepper
seems like a joke to me
that this old crap's still on the screen
can't we get something better to see
instead of this **** thats on TV
Hey, Drew Carey, I
Overstayed my welcome, stepped in crap and ruined your welcome mat
So spit that shit from the heart, you didn't write like you wrote it (yeah)
While I
stream it" (Stream it)
Wrap my Lamborghini
Shootin' craps in the casini (Woo)
Know lil' Hott a demon
Seen him pull up in a Demon
And that Sleepy Rose, man
gangster rap, don't like the prankster crap
So I get past all that by kicking straight up facts
There ain't no reason to shoot unless you got beef
If you
You claim if you get knocked by the cops
You'll give 'em not even a statement
Walk in the arraignment
Shoot the bailiff, karate kick the plaintiff
Yahtzee at the crap table
Burstin' caps at a Nazi rap label
Oops, a pot of hot tea spilt on the cable
Evaporate an ice grill, read the seeds of Aesop
boom, Muhammad Ali
Versus Potsy cursin' Yahtzee at the crap table
Burstin' caps at a Nazi rap label
Oops, a pot of hot tea spilt on the cable
wouldn't shoot their friend?")
"Old fucking fuck"
("That's fine, it's not your fault") "i killed my fucking friends, fuck"
"I'm gonna need security in
shoot
Free this shit
Get the kit
Of this hit
Those are bad, they just lack
On the pack
Worth to have
Off this crap
Yes, i'm star
Get real far, with no
friends the other day
Tryna understand why you here buddy please explain
I don't even give a crap bout yo nonsense
I was up here living this lavish life bro
back
Remember im that young nigga
That put gangsta rap on the map
Never craps, only five duices
Mix that moet, white star, with them orange juices
I
Slanger, Crap Slangers, Head Bangers
In this motherfucker bitch, it's the be -A-D
With the motherfuckin' D-O-double G, yeah yeah, yeah yeah
[Bad Azz]
racks on some Cartier lens (spent them racks)
Margiela, high top on my shins
We'll shoot at the opp and they friends
And I'm makin' these racks with no
good, Stevie Wonder-ful
And everybody with me strapped
Tell them hoes adapt shoot ‘em in his head
He dead before he collapse
Young Money we the crap, no
the kind to be signin' the crap,
Here's a CD, slash here's a dime of that crack
[Chorus]
Nigga double up, keep all guns double clutch,
Shoot at yo
a young nigga got that Get
Mo get mo plenty money
In the trap house tryin to move something
In the crap house tryin to win something
On the block tryin
the fat tracks, fuck the pop crap
I got a mind to cold diss a fool
Wack rappers sellin out urge me to pull tools
For no reason
Pop suckers hookin for hits
Ooh, Ahh, Ya Ya Ya, Ok Ok, Yuh, Ooh, Aah, Yuh
I'm a real black, you some real crap, I don't give a crap, ain't nobody ask
I'll take off my mask, you
bitches better get it right (yeah)
From the crap tables down in A.C.
Back on the block, Jay-Z motherfucker from the, the, the Roc
Went solo on that ass
on crap
Patience level ho raha hai mera kam
Sar mein gayi meri duniya tham
Beats karu cook, mere kaan huye numb
Badha du main ye drums, track kare blossom,
enough to shoot the web
Shoot the web
Like Peter parker or spider man
Got more water than fire men
Hose in ma hand like a fire man
Trained for the heat
and cordial
But these feelings are
Twenty-twos a producer, new Zoo
These gorillas they let loose at
2: 45 on 245 street colt 45 and shoot
Walkin' outside
that someone's selling fakes
Being sold as weasel crap, but it's really poop from snakes
Now it might be delicious, even tastier than soup
But you
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