| Slick body cools, move gravel on the side
|
| Grind nine to five as if some petty crime
|
| Stop on the time and flip lemons and limes
|
| Stay fresh to the death and steps into the CYNE
|
| Tastes like water, you is heavenly father
|
| Never lost my hair so never needing a barber
|
| The wall can’t stop me, baby, so why bother?
|
| So bust Hollywood, I’ll move to Valhalla
|
| Crazy, amazing, still life’s a painting
|
| Picasso a fossil, Michelangelo save me
|
| Pain all around. |
| My God, the gods crazy
|
| Zeus ran the juice with shock, but Pac’s angry
|
| Oh did he hold it? |
| Watch and wonder shows it
|
| He more like Thor with whores and through the motions
|
| Yes I sip PBR in the mornings
|
| Tanqueray and juices makes the truth flawless
|
| Grey like goose, I’m loose so beg pardon
|
| Everyday’s Saturday
|
| He’s out of the office!
|
| Night life like Anime. |
| Do the Bartman
|
| Raddest shit, baddest shit—ask Cartman
|
| Nutty as Cudi, right?
|
| For dead presidents, I pledge no allegiance
|
| Meaning? |
| I’m now a resident
|
| It’s sick with the liquid ink, son of a linguist
|
| Way too cunning for y’all, I’ll extinguish
|
| Petty flame, everything, find the pop shit
|
| It must be illusion so grand, it’s microscopic
|
| Rep West Africa—home to many prophets
|
| Courts with big dicks prescribe plain logic
|
| Home of the wisest, Pulitzer’s for prizes
|
| Did he come fuck with that? |
| I’ll advise you
|
| Lowlifes to roll like some broke-ass socialites
|
| Party over here. |
| Haha, it’s all right
|
| Fucka!
|
| Yes we gone pop the shit if they want it
|
| Rappers on looseless makes the truth flawless
|
| Grey like goose, I’m loose so beg pardon
|
| Everyday’s Saturday
|
| He’s out of the office!
|
| Yes, baby, I’m matching. |
| I’m so polo classic
|
| Like Johnny Walker with his Walkman blasting
|
| Dianetics, so my engrams are better
|
| Bordello especial—we relapse together
|
| So, yes, with double fist. |
| Don’t go ask me for shit
|
| ‘Cause everything you get, you gotta work hard for it
|
| In my Solo Cup, mix the shit that’s luscious
|
| Got a direct hit on your battleship
|
| Damn, he a phantom, so Cobra Commander
|
| He drunk as a skunk, Bacardi, yo, in the Fanta
|
| Look at him dancing, get at me honey
|
| Haha, I’m such a Casanova |