Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hayworth, artist - Mickey Factz. Album song Y-3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 22.10.2015
Record label: W.A.R. Media
Song language: English
Hayworth |
Yeah, they see me in them 25th letters, all they do is why |
Can’t he get better |
Of course over time, but that’s an extra quarter |
$ 1.25 if you caught it you a scorer |
Tom Brady aura, Patriot created |
Now I want my quarter back, hurry with the payment |
Your wifey on my balls till they both got deflated |
The writings on the wall Stevie saw it when he sang it |
Ribbon in the sky, tie it to a cloud |
This gifted nigga fly like a pigeon when it glides |
Searching for the present like your listen for the time |
And it’s all wrapped when I’m fitting it inside |
Morikami paintings you can see them in the entrance |
I be getting faded fireball is my apprentice |
Metaphors I live by my nigga Lupe get the credit |
On top of that they can’t equal facts |
Tower over niggas, tell me who want a piece of that? |
Leaning back, Morgan Freeman rap, yeah you see the bat |
Without that Michael Keaton cat, Y-3, bring it back |
This is how it go |
Shit is different on me |
Now you know |
Spend a little time |
Doing me on the low |
Now they got me feeling like the G.O.A.T |
Like whoa, I’m the best |
I tell my mirror everyday |
Little homie I’m the best |
Now these haters feel some kind of way |
Cause I got them things on |
El, let me begin like this |
I gets deep (?) |
(?) motor bike cyclists |
That was written in blood, type-0 |
No misspelling |
I got the mannerisms of a man of wisdom |
Rolling up a gram of ism |
Busting off the brain like an aneurysm |
Bet I officially win |
We’ll put up paper |
But y’all scared to pinpoint when to pencil me in |
Your schedule is clear that my legible handwriting |
Is groundbreaking like Super Saiyans |
Fighting super friends and titans |
Why would you sleep on my position in rap |
Cause if those listeners (?) kept staring how I’m missing a step |
Supplying lines like I’m kilo flipping |
Don’t let me get in your head, stick out my foot |
And have your ego tripping |
Those (?) pursuit of |
Leaves mummified |
And should get they piece from a pie |
That’s just food for thought |
Y-3, I’m talking Jeremy Scott |
Yohji Yamamoto cause Yeezy’s barely in stock |
My pops ain’t gone bury me, boy |
I’ma bury my pops |
Before I bury the hatchet, I rather bury the Glock |
She said I never smoke |
Well, I got to cherry the pop |
I got that mary jane, I smoke the hairiest pot |
What if Mary Magdalene had a bloody mary with a virgin |
On December 25th |
While bumping Mary J. Blige |
And Miss Mary Mack got on this little lamb |
Would you still say Merry Christmas |
If Joseph married the thot? |
Lord have mercy |
You ain’t heard no bars as sweet as this, Lord have Hershey’s |
My birthday is the only other day supposed to have Turkish |
Kirkwood is the new Mexico |
And I ain’t talking Albuquerque |
Huh, boy, you gone have to murk 'em |
I done swam through deeper waters |
This shit ain’t half as murky |
My clip pack a thirty |
Can’t let you bastards hurt me |
You gone need the same stitches |
They put the name on the back of jerseys with |
God please forgive 'em |
For shooting at the clergy |
And my bitch kill every event |
Jackie Joyner-Kersee, motherfucker |