| Yo it’s kinetic
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| It’s best
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| Leaving your skeleton crushed
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| I bug out like crack heads
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| Through an adrenalin rush
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| Plus I’m holdin' more blocks down than gravity’s grip
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| You see a chick in your whip
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| Ballin' Apathy’s dick
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| My salary’s thick
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| Pullin' more chips from the raps on wax
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| Than cats stack in craps or blackjack
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| I’m rich yo
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| Mac thick hoes with sick flows
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| I flip to rich hoes for self Pacino
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| On tour
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| I’m hardcore
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| Catch a little whore
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| Getting banged on the bathroom floor
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| And she said it wasn’t her
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| Yeah it was
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| Yo I can’t even lie
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| I’m irresistible and every bitch thinks that I’m fly
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| Walk by give your chick a little wink with the eye
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| And make the man feel soft so he doesn’t reply
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| There’s nothing to think
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| You faggots better tuck in your link
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| When seeing me and sacrifice ice to the nicest MC
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| «We're fresh fly fellas»
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| Now I don’t longer inhale dank to activate my think tank
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| I spit bars to bartenders and bars over drinks
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| Fuck skinny mamas
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| I like 'em shaped like Coca-Cola bottles
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| Tryin to holla at Takara from the Next Top Model
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| Hard act to follow when my noggin’s full throttle
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| Psychology got MCs tryin' to bottle me to swallow
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| The anomaly that what commonly passes as rhymin' be
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| Don’t speak, Crystal, pistols, chips, whips and death and diamonds, see?
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| My verses versus your verses
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| Like dispersing curses from witchdoctor to piss doctor
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| Better get doctors and nurses
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| What is bond, feet first
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| Like a breach birth
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| I’d rather rap, kiss my crack than put platinum on my teeth hurt, word
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| How can I get it through your fitted
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| What you spit’s pitiful? |
| I can’t
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| That’s why I sit and view the bull you mental midgets do
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| I’m signin' off
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| Sometimes on I’m rhymin' timin' off
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| I’m a con for a hip-hop, pop, Bach, and rock Rachmaninov
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| Now I don’t know a god damn thing about bricks and grams
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| Since the way I do hits they call me 'Spick and Span'
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| FYI, it’s best you learn to sleep with a handgun
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| That’s an age-old trade that I’mma instil in my grandson
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| Your crew is soft
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| Lookin' suspect of course
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| Mistake you for the Village People or the Soul Sonic Force
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| Put rainbow-hair faggots to the test like no other
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| Drop 'em from the tenth floor
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| They gon' pass with flyin' colors motherfucker
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| I’ve got a few screws loose and my Uz' is foolproof
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| No safety triggers like a loose tooth
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| I don’t care about Bentleys, Hummers, Diablos
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| I put twenty-four inch rims on a Volvo
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| And pull fat bitches with my clothes all wrinkly
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| All it takes is a wink of the eye
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| And one Twinkie
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| A rapper wanna diss? |
| He just a two-ball bitch
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| Up on Girls Gone Wild suckin' Snoop Dogg’s dick |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Fresh Fly Fellas , by - DJ Yoda. Song from the album The Amazing Adventures of DJ Yoda, in the genre Танцевальная музыка