| First he’s here then he’s gone
|
| In his own brain he’s the brains and the brawn
|
| In his own lane when the blades gettin' drawn
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| Everybody bows down to the Don
|
| Bow down to the Don
|
| Everybody bow down to the Don
|
| Bow down to the Don
|
| Everybody bow down to the Don
|
| Ooh it’s pretty hard to get a glimpse of him
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| Cause lordy lord that pretty pimp is slim
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| But you might catch him
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| Shootin' at windmills pistols drawn
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| Bullets bend around him and miss the king
|
| So go and kiss the ring but
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| He’d never diss the pawns
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| Even if his enemies list is long
|
| Supra’s laced up
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| He grows a foot when he slips them on
|
| And legend has it when he hits the bong and then he exhales
|
| The morning fog rolls in
|
| But you know dog it’s just a Frisco thing
|
| And when he’s steppin' through the empty city in the early mist of dawn
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| You can hear the buildings whisperin'
|
| You’ll feel the earth quake
|
| When he zips his fly down to piss planets shift alignment
|
| Cause the guys the only one that’s got a fist that’s strong enough to lift his
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| dong
|
| But he won’t tell you that cause he’s a gentleman
|
| First he’s here then he’s gone
|
| In his own brain he’s the brains and the brawn
|
| In his own lane when the blades gettin' drawn
|
| Everybody bows down to the Don
|
| Bow down to the Don
|
| Everybody bow down to the Don
|
| Bow down to the Don
|
| Everybody bow down to the Don
|
| Damn
|
| So fly they say that a bird nursed him
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| So wise that even the nerds cursed him
|
| Cause though they engineer new specimens every year
|
| Of the top tier human, he’s still the preferred version
|
| Soul so pure that upon first insertion whoever he make love to instantly turns
|
| virgin
|
| Swingin' his sword some sort of absurd surgeon
|
| Talks about himself but only in third person like
|
| He don’t stop he’s a choo-choo train the haters see him comin' and they drop a
|
| doo-doo stain
|
| But oo dang
|
| Though the smell of the turds worsen when haters they diseased the sound of his
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| words cures them
|
| A-Holes turn angels wearin' halos like Kangols when he climax he might crack
|
| volcanoes and then disappear
|
| While the surface of Earths versed and into the atmosphere they roamin' the
|
| world searchin' for him again
|
| She woke up laced up and her feet up
|
| Acrylic fire red she finess in a dress
|
| She’s a purebred yes they obsess over
|
| They all want a piece even if it’s left over
|
| She make the straightest girl in the room turn breast holder
|
| Got a voice that’s so deep and an aura so sweet
|
| That she light up the crowd
|
| And she only five feet
|
| And the truth she speaks
|
| People feel the concrete
|
| Bet she got a heart of gold that’s hard to let go
|
| They all confess to a lotta weight on her shoulders
|
| But she told the youngin' like the OG told her
|
| Don’t get it twisted bruh when she burnin' them rollers
|
| Cause all she gonna give you is the iceberg shoulder
|
| There’s nothing you can say and there’s nothing they told her
|
| Whether it’s stilettos or house shoes I hold her
|
| Don’t let her frame fool you she holds weight like a boulder
|
| First she’s here then she’s gone
|
| In her own brain she’s the brains and the brawn
|
| In her own lane when the blades gettin' drawn
|
| Everybody bows down to the Don
|
| Bows down to the Don
|
| Everybody bows down to the Don
|
| Bows down to the Don
|
| Everybody bows down to the Don |