Lyrics:
would think hip-hop hates me
Have you read the YouTube comments lately?
"Man, that's gay" gets dropped on the daily
We've become so numb to what we're
the record (wrecking?) section
Flight connection to the gentry board of all guerrilla lessons
Fuck a middle man distributor, I got a choice now
This ain't
Big Easy and I'm bouta punch in man
I'm nothin but net but you just a backrim man
I'm a boss and you just a lil kid man
Talk to me again I'm throwing
the messenger
Bitch niggaz talk behind ya back like a catcher
Either M-Y-O-B or B-Y-O stretcher
In that order, man, woman ,son, daughter
The beat sound like
Wack niggas bout to get aired out
Fagot niggas get they ass teared out
Grab a wise man by his goatee and rip his fuckin' beard out
Cold beat a niggas
Raised in Midlands, don't know the half of
Why you keep and move O's like Narcos
True rich champion, trim at the barbers
Used to get a board
New wave water whip
Flip pounds by the zip
Get down let it rip
Cap gown get your fit
Profound yes I is
Junky here go your fix
Break it down like
It's the Young Prophet he hop out, he hop out, he hop out the tomb
Feeling like MJ like MJ like MJ like MJ the way that I move
I could be Jordan or I
but steady retracting
Floating the oceans guided by passion
Can't bring me down ion care bout a kraken
Can't bring me down my flight is engaged
I'm
what/ I go back to the office my coffee mug sticks to the coaster/ I catch the toast as it flys out the toaster / I check my board for information
When you hear what I record, back to the drawing board
You're too insecure, you ask how I find that
By your weak handshake and no eye to eye contact
your face in a minute
Been looking, nowhere to be seen
Man, where you been? Checking for your new songs daily
The wait gets worse by the week
I wonder
the intermission
But we got to move,, on the move
Making moves, treat the Atlas like a board
Chest protected with the tool
Just a pawn in the grander scheme
Grandeur
a holster man I do this on the side
Now if I roll with Mr. B he'll teach a bitch about a nine
I done hop in studios then murder, like that southside
I need
the funky fresh music that was stereotyped
When I kill, that ol' mad funky flow
Not sayin' Ason, duck duck disco
Or disco duck, strictly hip hop
Baby
Ason, duck duck disco
Or disco duck, strictly hip hop
Baby baby, I can't stop
Wu, gots ta like come on through
Soo, that's the call for the Wu
I
clique collapsin' mister
45 hop in ya' ride you'll prob'ly not survive
And put it down like fake criminals when the cops arrive
Man we often makin' a move
from thee
Like I done killed a few
But am I talking birds dogs or humans
Blue man group still banging in me
So I regroup
Then hop into the coupe
Drive
our kids
Too many brothers caged in the Pen
Engagin' a bid, enslaved by the pigs
If it wasn't for crooked cops that pop shots grazin' our wig
That
(I got Hitman on the beat)
Ayy, ayy, I ain't even gotta say nothing
I'm from that Plaq, I go by P Yungin
You know what it is
Bitch nigga try
the rubbish cause my people need me and I need them just to function
Get so lonely now in days but I gotta rise above it
Hop on a beat and do my thing, have
times can someone wash his hands
By the time we get out hell I’ll be an old man
We went from World War 3 to a deadly disease
Tell me who switched us out
out double pistol and twenty gon' hop out with that deuce
Nigga, throwin' boards up, why we hangin' off the roof
I said I'm told by that backdoor you
suffering
Pain time and glory like the homie Capone
All the hip hop heads rejoice cause they know I home
I represent for a zone that gets dick teased
By
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