| Yo pass me the ball fool
|
| You better fuckin' pick me, ya
|
| Straight the fuck up, I roof this shit
|
| Fuckin' 360 on this pussy
|
| I don’t give a fuck
|
| I’ll kick this motherfucking ball over the fence
|
| No shoes on
|
| I know you see me on the TV, lookin' like a hunk of beef
|
| When I smile your baby mama shit her dungarees
|
| Somebody get the kid a deal he sound like me
|
| But nah, dunny don’t get down like me
|
| The falcon flies back to the glove when I whistle
|
| Don’t try to put me in the box like a tissue
|
| Cause I push you in the box with a pink suit
|
| Fuck around and have some squid ink soup, bitch
|
| (Ah man there’s so much fuckin' hash in this joint right now son)
|
| Uh, you ain’t a legend like Yanni
|
| I’m so Queens like a Roy Wilkins T-shirt
|
| With one arm shredded, and one arm missing
|
| Dog, I was born with Allah’s vision
|
| I learned quick I couldn’t follow suit
|
| Cause the Devil put the pork inside the dollar soup
|
| Now I’m sittin' in first class with a hard dick
|
| Listenin' to German guitar riffs, what a life
|
| I was made like the beginning of Jurassic Park
|
| When they took the fucking blood from the mosquito with a dope needle
|
| Then they shot it in a wild lion, 1983
|
| I popped out holdin' an iron with a visor on
|
| Yeah, uh huh
|
| Yo, the videos are like a Jewish summer camp promo
|
| Your ideas lack Adobo
|
| Yo, silk cinder blocks, cinnamon socks
|
| On the low like a whip without shocks
|
| I bag bitches in flocks
|
| Representative for everything official
|
| Ya’ll niggas can’t live, so it’s officially an issue
|
| Waterproof penmanship, padded on a rugby
|
| Hammer in the hamper 'case a nigga try to thug me
|
| I’m a idol, my wave is tidal, forget survival
|
| Treat the last record I broke just like a rival
|
| Uh, I’m New York before it turned into a bike lane
|
| Never had a light fame, split the pipe cane
|
| It was written but I wrote it
|
| Put religion right on my neck and then I froze it
|
| Laurenovitch, yeah
|
| 3:36 in the morning
|
| Location: a drug infested area, Brooklyn, New York
|
| What am I doing? |
| Standing on an unidentified corner
|
| With a Latin individual, corn rows, foamposites;
|
| All sorts of a felony in his waist
|
| But who are you? |
| She only loves me when I’m naked |