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People call me the drunk, off the thick funk |
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Just to prove I'm ?luida? bag your whole start like ?meshuda? |
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Click back, put a hollow point cap in your temple |
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We get caught, it's strictly mental |
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A stone crook, I don't go by the book |
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You can't fool me with your gangsta look |
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I've truncated ??? on my turf for wet pay |
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When I roll a blunt, they'd better roll away |
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Out, and don't try talking bold |
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Cause I'll smack you with a bat just like "Walking Tall" |
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What? You punk, who's gonna defend you? |
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When I bumrush your ass and stick an icepick in you |
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Quick, your bitch caught a splinter from my dick |
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Cause she gave me a woodie in the parking lot behind Mc- |
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Donald's, the bed slammer again stick 'em both |
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With my king-size dick, and Donna King sized hand again |
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*gunshot* "2, 3, Break!" |
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[Fashion] |
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I go so much of this style coming from my lips while |
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Washed-up ducks get dumped in motherfucking shit piles |
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Bang, I got my own thang, gang ain't a proper |
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Drop a, hollow-point shelly on a copper |
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Let 'em fucking know who's Kool where I'm coming from |
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Slept for a while on my style now I'm stunning 'em |
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Bagging 'em, plus I hit their hoes in the mean |
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Cause all I ever want is fame, bitches, and the green |
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Seen crazy niggas get lost in the shuffle |
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With dreams turned to rubble then bust like a bubble |
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Ta-dow, now, that's how it's falling |
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Whether I'm hitting skins or motherfucking ballin |
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Hanging with my crew on the Peakskill plain |
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I throw my shit when laying a bitch so get off my dick |
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Trick, you know my style, no it ain't no use |
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Cause I keep your hoes wet like a fucking douche |
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*gunshot* "2, 3, Break!" |
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[JuJu] |
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Taking 'em out, no hass, I be the owner of my rhymes |
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Will make niggas collapse into a coma |
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Product of a concrete hell, I'm on a mission |
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Deadly with intent to shell the opposition |
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Fucking with this flow, come on, yo that's treason |
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Niggas fuck around and get shot for no reason |
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Junkyard nigga, represent everytime |
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Corona's in the house and yo Gab! |
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(Bust and rip the skills!) |
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[Gab] |
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My rhymes wake up to a 9.4, ready for war |
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Come up, I false my fronts with your spinal chord |
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Before I got the drive, I possess and tox |
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And I'm trying to survive under a cyanide landslide |
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But that ain't nothing like a penny anymore |
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Cause I assault niggas who couldn't launch shit with catapaults |
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So if you ever hear the name Gab One |
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Don't even sweat it, the worst hasn't even begun |
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[JuJu] |
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Word up, it's like that, Beatnus, Triflicts in the house, kid |
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19, and one, you know what I'm saying? Word |
