| Respect the mustache, my people loves cash and puff the cut grass
|
| Of spite, known to let a nut fly, right in your slut mask
|
| Ring of fire full I step inside fishing to cut glass
|
| Tongue poll shaking pillars, you’re like a steak a sizzler
|
| I’m like a lunch with no boo dip with the whole crew
|
| 'Cause false moves get your whole face smothered like soul food
|
| Right by the waist I got the Pro Tool, it’s simply logic
|
| Produce this hard dick in seconds, make your bitch massage it
|
| You’re like a forty dollar holler from Guadalajara
|
| Gushing to scamma motherfucker’s ain’t promised tomorrow
|
| Badges of honor on the chest the flesh got wounds in it
|
| Got inmates with assholes that got balloons in it
|
| Versace blue jeans 98 the scent of me
|
| Now the scent of me be primarily the scent of tree
|
| Fucking feedback, play me feed back
|
| Before I shoot you, shorty take the charge, Steve Nash
|
| Don’t interrupt me I’ll silly putty you for the money
|
| Red sauce, calamari you with the feeling’s funny
|
| I’m dealing twenties killing forties by the oz
|
| My brain is scattered like I been swallowing OCs
|
| Beantown to Queens, you hear the rounds and screams
|
| Where they pat down your jeans, take your money and your trees
|
| The diamond rocker devouring vodka shrimp and lobster
|
| Pop you and turn you into pasta papa look in my cara
|
| The flow’s furious, so serious cold killers
|
| Who rip shit, spit sick, and stole millions
|
| Hit em with lead and then men’ll run in your grandma house
|
| Clear it out, steal everything in it but the couch
|
| Term Brady and Action Sanchez
|
| Stacks of fair bread, clap and peel wigs
|
| The type of feeling I get when I write a rhyme
|
| Is the violentest blood-infested killing of all time
|
| I’m a beast |