| Codeine in my cereal, always behind a smokey
|
| I’m sorta like a miracle, you rappers are venereal
|
| And never in my stereo, might spray your ass with vinegar
|
| The next time that I see ya bro
|
| Bet yo ass still won’t be tight
|
| The size of my dick nigga, every pussy tight
|
| I write all night til the sun comes up
|
| Dodging texts from yo sista tryna lick on my nuts
|
| Cobra clutch the game, put that bitch into submission
|
| Yo bitch want the stick shift, no transmission
|
| Dawg, I’m on a mission, you’re playing exhibition
|
| On an expedition, poppin X but never trippin
|
| Chillin with a vixen, tryna stick my dick in
|
| Red head ho, like a young Kathy Griffin
|
| Smoked too many blunts, I can hear my lungs whistlin'
|
| Still rollin up, ho smellin like chicken
|
| Rap Martin Lawrence, all you other rappers boring
|
| Bruiser make 2 Live Crew look like some mormons
|
| Nigga my essay is hard like a life-doin' ese
|
| Gang banging on the yard with a home made machete
|
| The nicest cassette tapes, stay smokin' heavy
|
| Popped a couple pills, eye’s glowing like Belly
|
| Used to stash the cracks in the seams of my Pelle
|
| Detroit nigga, but I’m smokin' on LA
|
| And is anybody nervous?
|
| I’m red to go
|
| I said is anybody worried?
|
| I’m red to go
|
| Is anybody scared?
|
| I’m red to go
|
| Well I used to be afraid
|
| I’m red to go
|
| Tired of where I came from but know where I’m goin'
|
| Tears in my eyes cause I’m smokin' on an onion
|
| Aroma on that 'etra scary and McNairy
|
| Off of moon rocks in Barcelona poppin' cherries
|
| Blowjobs from model twins
|
| Doin' drugs with acronyms
|
| So many lines thought this shit was bush garden
|
| Party startin' monster with the hair like Blanka
|
| Hotel room like a hair metal concert
|
| This blonde made the dick do the spring on
|
| You disrespect I hit you with the slap of Tatanka
|
| Remember nigga used to eat shit that didn’t match
|
| Like cornbeef hash and some fuckin' Apple Jacks
|
| Used to bag up the packs at every night
|
| Bologna all night, with no peanut butter, couldn’t waste it on the mic
|
| So I waste every night, everything came with rice
|
| And I knew I wouldn’t write
|
| So I got my ass up, fuck dependin' on luck
|
| Greyhound to NY bout 300 bucks
|
| Kept my hopes up but my confidence was low
|
| Now my self esteem is astral
|
| Lookin' at this cash flow
|
| Did it my way, I ain’t nobody ho
|
| I’m bout to pimp the rap game
|
| Bitch I’m red to go |