
Date of issue: 16.03.2009
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Paper Plate |
You ever seen someone who roll with Mayweather, rhyme like Ricky Hatton |
Smash whatever you throw, 1000 is what I’m battin' |
Got a few hooks but no jabs |
Took 'em out your corndog books and notepads |
I get it, you got rich robbin' those in the industry |
Bite off this one, steal from your enemy |
Never try to play the hottest one out your camp |
He might step off and take half the joules from your amp |
Enough to make you vogue on the cover of GQ |
Only missin' the sheer blouse, homie, you see-through |
Stop sippin' on that Formula 50 |
They want heat, I’ll give it to them, burnt and crispy |
Rhymes too short to box with God, so stretch it |
Especially these overrated rap Stepin Fetchits |
I told you if I rain, there’ll be an eternal drizzle |
Woodwork strips being chipped with sharp chisels |
One verse shatter your spine and crush your spirit |
No matter what, you still window shop for lyrics |
If you’s a pimp, put chicks on a stroll |
And if those your soldiers, give 'em bigger guns to hold |
Who shot ya? |
You don’t have enough on your roster |
You move like a fed, but you talk like a mobster |
That yayo you slangin', please abort it |
Too many cuts on it, cokeheads they won’t snort it |
Spray the Flea-Unit with pesticides |
You can get your best ghostwriters, get them all to testify |
Have you ever been stung by a thousand hornets? |
Five hundred killa bees, buzzin' and really on it |
Whipped with Cuban Linx, cut with Liquid Swords |
Choked by Ironman 'til we crush your vocal cords |
You ain’t nothin' but a pig in a blanket |
Hoghead, the deadliest food at the banquet |
All this rap crap that’s trapped in your colon |
Only means, get rid of the wack sh-- you holdin' |
Sweet-tooth dudes, stay out the candyshop |
You ain’t gotta handcuff 'em to see the panties drop |
A few cats is lookin' for a rat with cheese |
Got somethin' to pitch? |
They all swing a bat with ease |
Get your ankles broke while doin' your two-step |
Leave a «Thank you!"note for the crutches the Wu left |
Proactive rap, you know they put drug in the cream |
You hallucinate, see Kanye in your dream |
And yo, I don’t smoke dust, I dust off Smokey and the Bandits |
With the brush stroke off the canvas |
I walk on your gators and lizards |
Raise the lynx that was killed for your minks, you be rockin' in blizzards |
Wanna be cock 'til you walk the D-Block |
To get a transfer, I’ll spread your wings like peacocks |
I was an emcee while you was in Nutville |
On a world tour, you was gettin' your guts spilled |
Ten years your senior but I flow like I’m twenty-one |
Straight from Medina, with a mass of many suns |
Supernova, give off gamma-ray bursts |
And I’ll finish this only, 'cause I let off first |
Wassup? |
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