Lyrics:
guys
Disguised as pro-Black
There is no slack, far heart for college grad
In a fitted hat and a hunchback
Standin' by the clearance coat rack
In
Hit the stage, grip the mic and murder you like a pro-lifer
But I'm done now, I got a son now
Fuck the rap game, I'm done now
Chillin' with
warm nut on your breasts
Ain't nothin' fuckin' with them bitches
(nah) from the West
Eternally thug nigga, Hilfiger made by Tommy
So when I speak hope
bring
And I'm sick with this, my flow is fuckin ridiculous
When Ja's on the premesis niggas is gon get it
For the fearless, you a little hard headed, you
where birds fly (fly)
From Miami by way of Cuba (let's get i) to whoever wants to get that high (high)
There's clouds of clowns, seas of G's
Pro
Got, only so much time in this bastard
Bitter be claimin' broke but I be sayin' they pro-cras-ti-natin
Settlin' for less, bet' be ready
When they
hella sick
I got a spit curse with a verse like God
Told me kill the shit
Load the clip Heckler & Koch, the hoover king
Bada bing by the ding a ling,
It ain't nothing but a party here
From the early evening til the break of day
So step this way and let your mind be free
And by the way "welcome
phone
Where's Ali with the motherfucking dope? (bitch, bitch)
I be ballin' like a mo'fuckin' pro (like a, huh, like a, huh)
I be ballin' like my nigga Mo
cool your fuckin jets, who wanna be next?
Ooh, I'll probably get life if I let
One off, so I let em go like a pro
Sir andre with an accent 3 triple 0
pro-bono
All-Star weekend floor seats by the coaches
Flying all frequent, reclining on beaches
Half a millie on the road, y'all relyin on features
I ain't
I pick bad beats
But I pick bad freaks
Narratives they runnin' with, the classics they comin' with
Ain't fuckin' with what I recorded last week
This rap shit divided by panty lines, mm, which side are you on? (Pussy)
Social media got you fuckin' in pantomime, damn, why that line so long?
She's got another friend with her and her dad's rich
If we find us a ride out to Wyandotte
guaranteed, we can fuck em both on the spot"
Oh shit, let me
drama
To my niggas with figures, say, "I love my baby mama"
I bought them shoes, them tattoos, an even fixed your breasts
I put you inside the flyest
go get your work
And keep your beeper chirpin' is a must
Is you on that dust or cornstarch
Familiar with that smack man
The music is like that
go get your work
And keep your beeper chirpin' is a must
Is you on that dust or cornstarch
Familiar with that smack man
The music is like that
It ain't nothing but a party here
From the early evening til the break of day
So step this way and let your mind be free
And by the way "welcome
with me
And we
Get the fuckin' money
Get the fuckin' money
Get the fuckin' money
Get the fuckin' money
I don't want the Jacksons, I just want the hunnids
ain't nuttin' fuckin' with that
We bustin' back comin' back for the stacks
Laugh last cash cash, all I want is the paper
Givin' them fuckers tool
on when you pulled that shit
Flodgin' ass niggah prepare for the triggah with no fuckin' heart
You gonna meet this sick killah don't step
Better watch
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
you'll get throwed by some elbows
Fuck it, I'll fill his ass wit' holes
On that funk blow, throwin' high low like I'm a pro
Get buck, dog, get crunk,
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
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