| I’m the king.
|
| I floss rings, the new John Mickens
|
| Uhh, I’m stayin’rich and keep the haters bitchin
|
| from New York to Richmond, my shine is sickenin
|
| Ice drips, frost bits, or forfeit shit
|
| I got to rewrite this mackin’game, baby
|
| Layin’in the barber shop, knowin’haters is shady
|
| Maybe, they sex young chicks and whips
|
| but i got lesbo combos ridin’stick-shifts
|
| for no chips, I’m seein'4 to 8 lips
|
| let me tell ya 'bout my life-style, playas and chips, sick
|
| Mr. Smith, the rarest breed
|
| separate the dimes from 'hoes like chronic seeds
|
| miraculous
|
| lyrical swiftness
|
| practice this, stop bein’actresses
|
| on mattresses with your legs up in the air
|
| splash the crisp. |
| John Micks, a millionaire
|
| Anutha Day … anutha Dolla
|
| My fortune 500 is fully funded
|
| Joints I pumps, gives my pockets the mumps
|
| I’m the glossiest and the costliest
|
| feel the force of this
|
| lyrical arsenist
|
| Hotter. |
| than a yacht with rottweillers
|
| chicks in choppers with they thong sittin’proper
|
| the crisp poppa bringin’drama like soap operas
|
| the show stopper if u playas don’t flow proper
|
| I’m the jiggiest, bitch, shit the wittiest
|
| wonderin’why cats front on who’s the williest
|
| Chill, relax, you cats will fall
|
| 10 mill, 10 plaques upon my wall
|
| You stall, mix large, I see y’all
|
| Mash ya like roaches then cop diamond broaches
|
| Supercalla — nevermind the alladocious
|
| Sin the fellas, get blazed and you can quote this
|
| Anutha day … anutha dolla
|
| I’m the MC that you strive to be competition is dead, cuz ain’t none of y’all live as me Handsome moody, I keep it raw, baby
|
| so save all the goodfella shit for Scorsece
|
| So iced up, they call me Mount Everest
|
| the many get honey ways draped over my headrest
|
| I run game from Fort Green to Maine
|
| I keep ya head noddin’like dope is in your vein
|
| Hail to the King Cajone. |
| jing-a-ling
|
| I buy ya clicks loyalty with one pinkie ring
|
| Gotta be above average to grow cabbage
|
| I wreack havoc, do damage
|
| don’t have it uh huh. |
| techniques up to par
|
| yeah you, get ya black ass looped like Mardi Gras
|
| Chick soup too
|
| Hittin’me off in yo’car
|
| Blaze her in the alley cuz she actin’bourgeoise
|
| Anutha day. |
| anutha dolla
|
| Ahhh man … it’s hard bein’the King, baby
|
| but someone’s gotta do it, haha |