|
Oh yea, yo wutchu want, got wutchu need? |
|
It's Copywrite ha ha ha word up |
|
Yo, yo the best this year |
|
To bless this here mic til your brain burst |
|
I'll guest appear twice and the check will clear three times from the same verse |
|
I was always a demon |
|
I took the form of a fetus the second my pop's balls spread his semen |
|
Lost my marbles at six |
|
**** swollowin my nut, I make bitches gargle my piss |
|
Bench-press and take over spirits with my ****in' lyrics |
|
Since seven my reflection wouldn't show up in mirrors |
|
And every club that I rip, groupies tuggin my dick |
|
I make songs I'd love, even if it wasn't my shit |
|
Y'all drop drugs, generic and bland |
|
Sucking the cocks of Biggie and Pac while tryin to inherit they fans |
|
And may God bless the soul of every rapper murdered |
|
Except for the cats I served |
|
And if they were wack then they deserved it |
|
Show me a thug, I'd permeate one |
|
Duck from the son of a gun born from the barrel of a 38 snub |
|
Yo let me know |
|
Where's your crew |
|
Round 'em up, roll 'em out, send 'em through |
|
Bring whatever you gotta bring |
|
(Let's do this shit) Bada ****in' boom, bada bing |
|
Yo let me know |
|
Where's your crew |
|
Round 'em up, roll 'em out, send 'em through |
|
Bring whatever you gotta bring |
|
(Let's do this shit) Bada ****in' boom, bada bing |
|
I'm a psycho with a pump |
|
And a rifle in the trunk |
|
You got ten seconds to run, I never liked you from the jump |
|
I drop madness, give whore's jaw practice |
|
Want advice? send your demo to Bob Saggit |
|
He'll laugh at it, the audience will vote for it |
|
HELL you might even win the fifty grand, go for it |
|
This slut's mine when it's **** time |
|
I'm man enough to cum in her |
|
But not man enough to take care of what's mine |
|
Emcees with heart |
|
Come in peace then leave in parts |
|
You rhyme the tightest? I'll pull your seams apart |
|
I must have an everlasting battery between my heart |
|
Cause I shine the brightest, when I'm not even charged |
|
You ain't no emcee, you're a border-line fag |
|
With your boyfriend's number written in your rhyme-pad |
|
You talk a lot of gossip |
|
Only time you move the crowd |
|
Is from the front row of your show to the parking lot to vomit |
|
Yo let me know |
|
Where's your crew |
|
Round 'em up, roll 'em out, send 'em through |
|
Bring whatever you gotta bring |
|
(Let's do this shit) Bada ****in' boom, bada bing |
|
Yo let me know |
|
Where's your crew |
|
Round 'em up, roll 'em out, send 'em through |
|
Bring whatever you gotta bring |
|
(Let's do this shit) Bada ****in' boom, bada bing |
|
I preach each word on the mic like it's my last word i'll recite |
|
So I'll be famous tomorrow if I'm murdered tonight |
|
Playful with this shit |
|
While you're bluffin to your bimbo |
|
Leave your razor at the crib, only thing you cuttin is a demo |
|
I ain't waitin, spit it after me |
|
Talkin shit behind my back, ain't hatin |
|
That shit is blasphemy |
|
You're trash to me |
|
Far from clutched with a verse |
|
SO BATTLE ME |
|
And leave with a garbage truck for a hearse |
|
Half Italian |
|
Half Irish |
|
All cast-iron |
|
Even if I'm the first to blast |
|
I'm the last dyin |
|
Stand in the middle of a battlefield without a shield |
|
Prepare, I could stare at a bullet and shatter steel |
|
Tear, any rapper out there, that's how i feel |
|
When I steal more now than I did without a deal |
|
Rob your crib, take all your shit, hop out |
|
Leave a thank you note signed Copy |
|
The Warner Ridge drop out |
|
Yo let me know |
|
Where's your crew |
|
Round 'em up, roll 'em out, send 'em through |
|
Bring whatever you gotta bring |
|
(Let's do this shit) Bada ****in' boom, bada bing |
|
Yo let me know |
|
Where's your crew |
|
Round 'em up, roll 'em out, send 'em through |
|
Bring whatever you gotta bring |
|
(Let's do this shit) Bada ****in' boom, bada) |
