Song parody of

Six Fo

by Joell Ortiz

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  • English (English)
  • Français (French)
  • Español (Spanish)

Put this mothafucka in neutral and let it roll This sounds best in the car Vocal calisthenics, let me flex on the bars Ain't even gotta try to tell everybody bye You could pull up any verse and never dip on the high Why am I still considered the head honcho? Fire flows turn all them designer clothes into red ponchos Paragraphs disperse lead, pronto Bring you to your knees slow, like Tebow watchin' the Jets-Broncos Look at what my thoughts bring These up-and-comers like the first day of summer, they my offspring Feels like an undercover boss thing Oh, my godly pace forces me to hardly race, I'm New York's king These words runnin' 'round in my head I slow 'em down and connect 'em underground 'till y'all dead They said if you rap too good, you'll never make a profit Tell that to these bank tellers when I make deposits Tell that to the flight attendant when the plane departin' And tell your bitch get off my dick like Lorena Bobbitt This ain't no movie that I play a part in It's real life and I'm nice in the punch-you-in-the-face department Writin' hand too strong, you gotta break your arm and To try to be in conversations that my name's involved in I'm best of friends with Eminem, Dr. Dre and all them Gang members, Yelawolf, Paul, Tracy and all them I would play the park bench with a crazy Walkman Listenin' straight, no rewind button Flip the tape, fast-forward, just to rewind somethin' Fast-forward, I'm flippin' tapes, look at me, I'm frontin' They said I'd never make it Riker's Island just knew they'd be makin' bed arrangements One of them bullets just knew they would hit my chest and cave it I'm wanted, better face it I'm Dufresne, I've been through a lot of shit, but better I 'scaped it I'm from a world full of run-up-in-your-spot robbers No carpentry-class kinda ox-carvers On the block with a Glock and rock joggers And nobody saw nothin', you got shot for bein' a blogger Look what all these hard bars did for me Nice guys finish last, I gotta disagree This spittin' spree keeps me at the dealership Like I fuck nothin' but virgins, every year I'm in a different V While these rappers got a kick out of mimicry My raps felt like blackbelts in the sixth degree I roundhouse anyone who tryna trade rounds With the house and house rounds in any battle, nigga, this is me I get it poppin', it's the papi chulo Pop into this spot, pop bottles then pop out with your mami culo Just fucked a pop star but promised to never let you know I'm tellin' you though, she look like she on Telemundo I don't care if she faked it all day Right after I nut, I said I came a long way From coppin' new Js in Dr. Jays on Broadway To stylists at the Grammys, watchin' plays on Broadway To the private invite from playwrights, guess I played it right Is y'all Mayweather or Mike, is you gon' take the fight? I'm just tryna get in shape, to hit the weigh in, like Skip this press conference, less nonsense, nigga say goodnight I took an oath to never let my fans down First rapper to man up'll be a man down Skinny, chubby, fat, five-foot-six tall Line 'em up, I got a coffin that's one-size-fits-all This pen is what kept me out the pens, but how you act depends If a life sentence pends for pennin' your end My wrist swings like a pendulum for perfect penmanship Been there, oh my empire's independent again

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Six Fo

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