| Ha, hey guys, let’s do one of those no melody songs
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| That’ll be so creative
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| Yeah, uh, yeah, yeah
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| Ayy, Wendigo, you sound like Kenny Beats right now, hahaha
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| Chase the money, chase money, hahaha
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| Yeah, oh my God, bitch, yes, yeah, Wendi!
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| B-B-Bitch I’m smokin' gas in my chambers like it’s the holocaust
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| Pull up with a K on my rifle, that’s what the holo cost
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| Teacher said you won’t be successful makin' those animations
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| Shut yo apple-eatin' ass up and do some laminations
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| I tear a page out the bible if I be out of papers
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| Idle niggas worshipin' idols, put acid in yo wafers
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| Pastor said you won’t be successful gettin' that boomin'
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| Did I ask ya pussy nigga? |
| You a human
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| And I’ma be a star soon, wavy like Ahab, hit that nigga with the harpoon
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| Save me, I may have pulled the trigger, ate some hard 'shrooms Maybe I’m faded
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| but I wiggle like a cartoon
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| Yeah, I feel like a cartoon
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| I’m in yo devices, perpetuate your vices in crisis but I’m the nicest
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| Always eat your food with spices
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| Pay attention to the prices, don’t be made into a sucka
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| You won’t have enough for supper, keep ya numbers on the upper
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| Tupperware eatin', my seatin' steady on the carpet
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| I park it and then I spark it, no marketin' hittin' targets
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| Hit like a guitar pick that’s strummin'
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| Or like a drum that be gunnin' you down for fun, I chuckle and then I run
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| Run up, I dump it out, he wanna thump it out
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| Coke in a mountain, my bitch gotta lump it out
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| Don’t do no arguments, pull up, no parkin' it
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| You hear the sound when my niggas is sparkin' it
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| I got two hands on that bitch, I won’t double back
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| I got that cookie it double wrap
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| I got Gelato in Cuban tobacco
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| I popped a new bottle and blew out her back, ho
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| I act like a wacko
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| I spit like I’m chewin' on you and don’t know what to do with the goo
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| You a slimy ass nigga, you drip like a garbage bag
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| Try me, I’ll always pull up with a larger mag
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| Built like an armory, niggas got no chance of harmin' me
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| Smoke up a garden G, I think it harden me
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| I am not hurtin', my pain is too far to see
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| Bitch if we kick it, no way you say «Naw» to weed or to poppin' a bottle
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| We pop him, he waddle
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| I ain’t never dawdle, I’m kickin' the throttle while fuckin' a model
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| I stay as drawin', yo life is novel and most of it awful, uh
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| Nobody read no more, I stay on the screen, you whore
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| You pay to get to seen, you poor
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| Don’t play for no team, I’m bored, huh?
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| Talkin' that shit yo lip look like an asshole
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| Walk in that bitch, shoot the bricks out yo castle
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| You one them niggas, not purse, it’s a satchel
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| That shit a purse, but it’s less of a hassle
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| Why it got tassels? |
| Why it got tassels on it?
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| I won’t pass the chronic to ya, supersonic-hoover-vacuum, bitch
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| I pack her smackin' lips
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| My dick attack her, slip inside her back-end quick
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| Stackin' chips like it’s a Pringles can
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| Let’s get it crackin' bitch, nigga
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| Bring it then, bring it then
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| Bitch, I’m, bitch, I’m
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| Bitch, I’m smoking (Bitch, I’m smoking) gas in my chambers like it’s the
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| holocaust
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| Cubie!
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| Bitch, bring the hate
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| Bring the smoke
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| Bitch, bring the hate
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| Bring the smoke
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| Bitch, I’m feelin' great
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| Yeah, (Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch)
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| Bitch, bring the hate, bring the smoke
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| Bitch, I’m feelin' great, chopstick get ate
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| Fuck yo fate, change your fuckin' state
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| Under sewer grates, put the stock up to my waist
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| I make you flip, like a cake, fuck yo zip, yo cookie fake
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| I tend to drip when I bake, put tobacco in my face
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| Bitch, off the rip, I be laced, go outside and catch a case
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| The pussy wet from the mace, riot dyin' in the street
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| Keep up the pace, fuck you slowin' for?
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| We racin' on our feet, we move with haste
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| I’m amazed, all these niggas fallin' off
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| Free 14, all these other rappers soft
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| Spider Gang, choppa cough
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| Bitch, on paper I look greater than presidents
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| Set preposterous precedents, got a roster of resonance copper?
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| Bother the residents proper, stockin' your evidence locker
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| Medicine set, it’ll stomp your head in a dropper
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| I keep the lead in a yappa, I get to poppin' ya top or ya legs and sever spit
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| red
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| And I drop ya dead and in heaven with papa |
| B-B-Bitch I’m smokin' heat like an oven, Hansel and Gretel
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| Sippin' tea inside your neighborhood, cannot handle the kettle
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| Pullin' up, double glovin', I’m buzzin' grippin' the metals
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| Spend a dozen and dip before he can settle (Yuh)
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| He want beef, but he a chicken, I smoke a nigga, rotisserie
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| You history, I use my machine to make you a mystery like Scooby-Doo
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| I roll up my doobie, full of the beautiful
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| Her booty pull me in 'cause she’s suitable, irrefutable
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| Run up on you, make you a victim, I’m the fuckin' shooter
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| I don’t pay for features, I lick 'em, watch your damn computer
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| Back in high school they took my scooter, they made me a looter (They did it)
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| I feel smart, I ain’t need no tutor, born a true intruder
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| Bitch I’m smokin' gas in my chambers like it’s the holocaust
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| P-P-Pull up with a K on my rifle, that’s what the holo cost
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| T-T-Teacher said you won’t be successful makin' those animations
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| T-T-Teacher ain’t no doctor, ain’t got no patience (Nah)
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| I feel like a cartoon (Yeah, yeah)
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| Bitch, bitch (Huh?), I feel like a cartoon, huh?
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| (Ha, now we’re so original guys
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| Let’s add that to the new genre
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| Oh my god, so lyrical
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| I only deserve when there’s so much clou-) |