| BITCH!
|
| Calling and ripping through my precisions
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| I’m killing, lyrical villain, I’m higher, touchin' the ceilin'
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| I’m willing to fucking win this, I’m in this to finish niggas for dinner
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| I’m fuckin' sinnin', begin to look out below to your temple (boom!)
|
| I call back, September, October, November, December
|
| You faggots put on your jackets before it snow in the winter
|
| Rookies and ginger cookies, going to school, playing hookey
|
| If I was starting to overlook me
|
| No contest, I arm wres, monster on his Loch Ness
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| Got more than one penis, hoochies hop up on my crotches
|
| Spotless, fucking a conscious goddess
|
| In the darkness, latches and harness is all set, I got this
|
| Heartless, congress, condoms, working on a topless
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| The compass is directing, secting
|
| I get carried away with the sexting, complexing
|
| She’s yours, I’m annexing
|
| I got a gun (I cock it back)
|
| I got a gun (Better wear your strap)
|
| I got a gun (Nigga, don’t get clapped)
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| You better run (See it in my lap)
|
| I got a gun (Nigga, got my gun)
|
| I got a gun (Nigga, this shit fun)
|
| I got a gun (I'ma kill that bitch)
|
| You better run
|
| Left Brain is my Lex Luger, bitch I’m Waka Flocka
|
| Over the stove, mixing music in a pot of rasta pasta
|
| Swag me the fuck out, I stash my dirty money at Cassie’s house
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| Put my gold teeth in a vulture’s mouth, 120 degrees pistol holster’s pouch
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| Radness of warriors, jewlery store, gory whores
|
| Bloody and lovely, Wolf Gang coyote ugly
|
| I’m a wild animal, bitch, I can’t be tamed
|
| Or identified, or better, even named
|
| And ho, that’s a shame, shoulda applied more effort in this game
|
| Yeah, call me Acronym Jim, keep my Beretta in my burgundy Tim
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| Shoot that nigga, make sure he dead
|
| Shoot that nigga, aim for his head
|
| Kill that bitch and steal her purse
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| Call everybody here her phone if that mothafucka works
|
| Take that, bitch, $ 40 a month |