Lyrics:
a morena, or latina,
even a china or blanquita
or get pounded by the heavy gringa
no need to turn this into Jerry Springer
start a big fight over Big Syke
looking like something that the cat dug
In and out of luck, you're hanging by a prayer
If you think you're falling apart
I swear I'll be there forever,
your never gonna never gonna be cool.
Oooh, mayday mayday I'm under attack by this one little bitch in' who he thinks he's all that,
I fight back,
Every sound U hear iN this beat
Was made wthe Beats By The Pound VST
Speaking of Beats, there's 1 word that
immediately rhymes with Beat, & that word
caught snoozin'
In the early morning hours from a long night of boozing
Stick 'em up chump, you know what this is
Do the right thing you might live
stitches for shit about
Money and bitches
Hugs and kisses from my friends momma's who are gonna miss him
Listen the dead have risen this cat-aclysm is
white kid, whatever, I ain't concerned
I can't sun tan I'm too hot, I burn
And if I drop I'll return with the status that I left
Yea this is a game
this style see through.
My brain is a point of view holding knowledge unseen like cats on a oriental menu.
Kalonji the immortal, styles continue,
in a mincer and pretend it's beef
Kidney of a horse, liver of a cat
Filling up the sausages with this and that
Residents are more than welcome
is a word I leave on the shelf
I don't want history to repeat itself
So I take it night by night
And I try not to hold you too tight
And I have
for a night with you.
I know you don't believe you mean this much to me
But I promise you that you do.
If I had one wish this is what it would be
Uh-ha
Mummy raised a good yute, but I'm bad like my surname Jackson
Fifty cent coins in this hand gun (baow)
You ever heard the MAC ring? Ain't
[Esoteric]
I take it to the streets carjack 5-0
Pack toast like breakfast to go let ya know
Up front that in my trunk I got this big ass bag
When
the feast
I can't express the horrors
And sadness of this place
As hell itself is visiting
Through a five pointed star
I hear chanting sung by demons
just some backpack crap, intelligent rap act
or militant black cat
I'm
Killing you venomous
platinum plaque Macks
By forever spitting
Relevant facts
life is what you make it to be
Pops dropped his seed in the concrete so
I was raised in the street
But faithfully I'm the cat y'all
Hate me to be
A great
Dark day in paradise
Tantalized by my eyes mislead
This one you've got to see
And her gaze, it is set on me
Not like I would push the brink
don't clown around
I'm found downtown with rolls of cash
My passion is smashing you disposable cats I'm old fashion
With swift abilities to lift and drop
Like Tony Montana on his toes. Up up and down your spinning round and round.
You don't know why your spinning maybe it's the syntha sound, but this is
I'ma keep the story short like a book that's read by midgets
Borinkins on the map, 130 pounds, go weight it
'swel it's Borinqieun so let me say it
sickness
And eating cat until the clitoris twitches
Beating rap and leave it in stitches and wounds
The deepest that I get is when my dicks in the wombs
Finesse is dangerous so those who came to fuss
Will fuck around and get smoked like angel dust
Swift with the gift when I'm dropping my shit
I do
TALKIN NONSENSE)
Sayin my family is unable to drop bomb hits
Napalm shit, move in a hail of fire
Bill, sire, trailed by an empire (FIYAH!)
Can't nobody
a getaway car
Each second seems like a lifetime
And the cat it's been staring at me all this time
How is your life today?
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