| Feeling warm in this tight room
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| I think I’m born just to write tunes
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| I’ll leave you torn with a knife wound
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| If you’re a storm I’m a typhoon
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| Might flow iller than a diabetic type two
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| Taking psychedelics just to get into the right mood
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| They can never tell it as intelligent as I do
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| Once I’m in my element it’s evident you might lose
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| I’m gaining paper off the rhymes that I bust
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| Cuz all these ladies say they love the way that I rhyme in a rush
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| I’ll spray a hater with some cyanide and fry him to slush
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| Or I can bake him like a pie using a nine that I clutch
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| But I’m, sick of rhyming out of rage
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| This might be the time where I decide to rhyme for days
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| Feeling like my minds tryna climb up out of a cage
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| So I’m sippin on this wine that’s got the right amount of age
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| With my head a little heavy
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| Better bring your fetti
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| Got so many weapons that I’m peddling machetes
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| Bitch I’ve never been this ready, a veteran already
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| Get up on my level, I’m ahead of everybody
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| I don’t mean to play vicious but I’m itching for the pump
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| Leave your face missing have you sitting in a slump
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| Feel the base hitting like a victim in a trunk
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| Watch the way the kid’ll turn a swisher to a blunt
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| Homie listen to this bump went from feeling like I’m living in the slums
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| Now it’s different cuz I’m tripping to the trumps
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| Tipping all these ones
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| For these bitches that be stripping for the funds
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| Get em dripping when this liquor hits their tongue
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| Filling up they lungs with the herbal I be twisting
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| Already feeling lifted off the purple I be sipping
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| Catch me hitting switches doing circles in the distance
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| They ask me how I made it out the «No» with no assistance
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| Its cuz I got a brain that can generate a mlli
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| People call it strange but id rather say its silly
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| Pimping in my veins till the day they come and kill me
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| But I’ve always been the type to make a hater fucking feel me
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| So I never really tripped on things that ain’t cash
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| Spit bomb hit songs 808 smash
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| Live long rip bongs made of straight hash
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| Spit the kind of game to make your database crash
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| We can face to face clash leave you laid and straight slashed
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| With a razor blade gash, to the face so brace fast
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| Cuz I came with eight gats, aimed and may blast
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| Play grenade catch, till your ass is made ash
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| You probably couldn’t fathom all this Adderall I’ve popped
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| I’m only using cannabis to catapult my thoughts
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| See I don’t need to battle dog my catalogue is hot
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| See I fuck around I’ll let the hammer go to rattle of the top
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| Got the baddest looking bop, she can back it up and drop
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| Riding on it awhile she bouncing like a saddles on my cock
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| Loving how my anaconda is standing like a rock
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| Push up on that ass I wanna smash and never stop
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| Passion for this guap, try an catch up to my spot
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| Tie your hands up in a knot
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| Fire at you land a shot
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| Fuck it I don’t need to plan a plot
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| Slam you with a random pan or pot
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| Your feeling me you’re here to see me rhyme
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| But I’m hearing that your fearing how I’m lyrically inclined
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| I can make you redefine
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| What it really means to grind
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| If you can’t just understand him you should read between the lines
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| Now I don’t need to boast about the records that I’m wrecking
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| Or how I keep a toast for protecting my possessions
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| If you ask about my coast then the west is my direction
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| So when I spit a flow you should bet I’m representing
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| Ill second-guess and question everything you say or mention
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| Get you heated raise the tension, have you bleed and make confessions
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| Beat you in the face and blame depression
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| Till you can’t even seem to make a recollection
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| I’ll grey your whole complexion
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| Then display my own aggression
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| As i’ll break your bones in sections
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| Then i’ll take a loaded Wesson
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| Let it spray along your face in all directions
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| Cuz you’re just hating that I make my own profession
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| Felling warm in this tight room
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| I think I’m born just to write tunes
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| I’ll leave you tore with a knife wound
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| If you’re a storm I’m a typhoon |