Lyrics:
the artificial
Let me relieve you replace that shit with some lethal
Mobb, remember the name it's been along
That nigga's shook to death from the first fuckin
believe
Man I'm fuckin' high
Pass me a wood so I can fill it up with turtle pie
Niggas don't got za man yall plug sold yall turtle lies
I'ma fuck and lie
role
Don't you fall out by no bitch, you better play your role
Your bitch fuckin' with your bro, you better play your role
Can't let her take your soul,
got no radio hits, but I bet that I still blow up like pro-pane,
Fall down and you’ll prolly get kicked,
By your dawg and your bitch,
Man that shit be
in song
I'm so fuckin -
I'm sick and tired of these little shitters
Remind you my name prefixed with mister
Mr. Protagonist default victor
Star
ain’t fuckin' with y'all amateurs
We causing all them damages from New York to Los Angeles
Angels with dirty faces though, she said “touch them dirty
so I can't go wrong
I write rhymes, Gemini my sign
I got a nine I don't rhyme about mine
I spit, it's legit, never stopped by cops
Comin up with
With six dicks of chap stick
Sticking in my black lips
Six sippie cups full of
Sick shit enhancements wolf Gang spit right
Ain't been this much fuckin
the pro only murders solo
I almost lost my life working with teams out in soho
California beach, we was storming the place
Fucked around and almost got buck
but still smooth as a tiptoe
Raw's takin' over, baby, don't tell me you ain't know
A lot of kids can rap but you fuckin' with the pros
Nahmsayin'?
you gon' feel that shit
Every day, every night
I be stuck on the grind like a glitch on Pro Skater
And brick by brick my empire grows
Don't need
the rack into a whole box, if the hoes drop
Let em know I ain't gon' stop
To the fuckin' top, till I go
Let em know I can flow with the pro hoes
And these
Lil hoe don't play with me, my life a movie, I'm givin' them clips
Dump the Glock, show me it work or somethin', stop runnin' your lips
I'm not
beat
Call yo friends around, then call the police!
Im ridin' wit my flow, it take up four seats
So I'm gon ghost ride, but with no sheets
One man by
fuckin' set could get dipped on
Kill with the chips or
Max cut the checks and the shit's on
Duck-Hunt these birds till clips gone
What you want from me
Canibus]
Yo, sittin on chrome, sittin on low pro 20 inch firestones
Grippin the road with the wickedest flow, 'Bis is a pro
I zigzag throughout
the hood, Red Monday gang
Niggas talkin' shit on the internet, their pain won't come the same
I done caught a cold fuckin' with my bitch, fuck it with
pros
I'm too cold
Never catch me slippin' muthafucka set up
II Tru to my dyin' day
Rollin' with AJay
Mo' Thug love nigga what
You got your blue
Jordan ones just be followed by the three
Were not fucking with sixteens we just end it at fourteen
All new Balenci’s, Dior, Followed with yeezys
All
It gets deep, fuckin' with these Chi-nese
Thai weed burnin' my hip from hot thats
Burnin' my lips from roach clips
Catch me on 40th
connection
Don't fuck with pro's
If "X" is me then what's the limit
Just divide by zero
Take it down, yo
Now let it down slow
Pace it down to the sound
goin' hella fast
Speedin' by you in that coupe with those winter tires
On my phone, yeah, you always cryin'
I'm the king and you the queen, of lying'
(Please stop)
I just get it bumpin'
Like some muhfuckin' acne
I go Wiley, no coyote
Nigga I don't fuck with ACME
Tell these niggas
"Get a fuckin' clue"
before we fucked, we just fuckin', it ain't love
See me shootin' with my chain on, I said it wasn't us, we stretch shit
Know I'm him, we should've never
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