Lyrics:
like suction cups
Yea what the fuck is up you duck
You better slip
Or get your wrist slit
Ultimate legit, can't quit when it comes to making hits
A phat
would have killed him with a few blows in no time at all
Mceldoo began to howl and to growl, by my soul
He threw an empty bowl at the shop keepers head
Put a bag on his head, he a slave
Yea we get em bought
Been fucking up them sites, cost don't matter
Yea I want it all
Two three be stayin close,
bragging on that body knowing he ain't kill that jit
We smok him like some zaza
I'm chillin with my shotta
Dreads in his head no Rasta
He chief to Bob Marley
uncle sip it
Goin through itz that in my grand-mother's kitchen
Head in his lap, Grand-mom bitchin
Pocket full of scrap, plus scratchin and itchin
Back
high in the face
Alfa foreign how I'm riding today
Swap the keys like a bih swap the weave
Make a hit, make 'em heave
Then I bob and I weave
(Yea yea)
learned, never forgotten
Straight, just watchin
Bob holds back, he might be booted
Spin, just shoot him, play with him
Tease him, beat him
Raise his rhythm,
would have killed him with a few blows in no time at all
Mceldoo began to howl and to growl, by my soul
He threw an empty bowl at the shop keepers head
And I couldn’t care less about a pandemic I’m tryna get rid of this Bob
Out where the curb is
Customer service
My mans good at his job
I got like
an automatic shotty from a drum they call "Tommy"
Guaranteed to get you bitches from by me
When I hit every piece of your visible body, he leaking
Mortimer is
an automatic shotty from a drum they call "Tommy"
Guaranteed to get you bitches from by me
When I hit every piece of your visible body, he leaking
Mortimer is
And straight to hell, got an impaled by the gates
So Satan stuck his face in an ashtray
While I sashayed around flames with a match and I gave him the gas face
through my body
I can feel it in my tendons
And My flow despicable
You bob ya head like minions
Feeling like Floyd
Cause ain't nobody else contending
merchandise, I put his head in his shirt
It was cliché to put their heads where I took a terd
Rather leave it where they trip when they walk out the door
She not
let 'em hype you
Shit bag, give his ass a diaper (pussy)
Thirty-five hundred got him gone (yeah)
He got shanked by a lifer (21)
Put your bitch up
Steppin' on his head, swear he shoulda had his skully on
Got him thinking, what the fuck these niggas tripping for
Niggas talkin' crazy
high power like it
the rhyme
I'ma leave you scarred
Cause I don't just hit ya
I hit ya hard
I weave the bob
To do the job
Set you up with the left
As the right writes hard
Bought some LV shoes and I
Didn't even wear it (L's)
Put ten on his head (put ten)
'Cause that nigga ain't name brand
Got a shooter wit' his name tag
Quantrill
And his Civil War guerrillas in the Missouri hills
He hit Lawrence, Kansas and fought them still
And when he rode out, two hundred lay killed
They
Jim Reed by the dark of the moon
And your son Ed was blowed down in a drunken saloon
Then there was Bob Younger, you loved him so well
He rode with
I adore exploring the corridors to Mordor
Doom and murder spewed through the YouTube converter
Still hungry, debtor better cop one of Bob's Burgers
be the GOAT
Whеn I leave the lеague
(Damjonboi) puncher next to me
Made a hundred off the dark web
Doggy got that fake Bape
Hundred for a shark head
decline, it ain't no Patsy, baby!
Light some sage 'cause your spirit is wrong
How the fuck you don't bob your head while hearing this song?
I bop and weave
looking for him
I'd play my little songs in the car next to you boo
She bob her head and say, "damn! Oh, that's you?"
But by the last anthem, I was feeling
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