| With the money and the drugs I can’t resist
|
| Like a frog princess that needs a woman’s kiss
|
| The way I get down is a tragedy
|
| They say, «Yeah nigger, Your Majesty»
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| Mind goin' blind in the whim
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| Cover my eyes with the front of my brim
|
| My still is the lady, yeah sun duck kim
|
| I’ma say it right here
|
| Why you fuckin' with him?
|
| Why you fuckin' with him?
|
| I’m a jewel-lord jim
|
| Like somethin' that’s priceless worn by Isis
|
| Blowin' on weed in the eye of the storm
|
| Gettin' snuck in the back of girl’s college dorms
|
| Homie now what?
|
| Roll this blunt.
|
| Nigga watcha drinkin' out your new pimp cup?
|
| Alcohol yeah, with a little cranberry
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| Hit it long enough it start to taste like cherry
|
| I’m in the door
|
| Blow on the horn
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| These freaks be thinkin' that I’ma Capricorn
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| Man in a whim
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| I tip my brim
|
| Still laxing kim, why ch’ou fuckin' with him?
|
| Why you fuckin with him?
|
| Pass the joint
|
| Fillmoe Lakeview Hunter’s point
|
| 24/7 there’s junk to sell
|
| An' no fairy tale
|
| An' I wish you well
|
| Because when I make bail
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| It’s like the flames of hell
|
| Or bullet shells that tip the scale
|
| Or be washed around
|
| Cause it’s electric
|
| You can detect it
|
| You mother fecked it
|
| It’s gettin' kind of hectic
|
| He’s gettin' kind of restless
|
| Mother fuckers out there say dat he’s the bestest
|
| I rides around in my car,
|
| thinkin' about money and ménage a trios
|
| No I’m not a star
|
| Blaze this fly
|
| Me and my nigga talk shit at the bar
|
| Hahh
|
| Nah freak you can’t braid my hair
|
| So you can have me outta line like Huggy Bear?
|
| I got clothes to wear
|
| That don’t compare
|
| I get a flat, get a new car
|
| Fuck a Spare
|
| In my fresh new keen, nicky underwear
|
| Ya pipe for a vine?
|
| Little sher khan says «why smoke vine, it doesn’t hurt your moms
|
| And it keeps me calm
|
| And that’s how I’m God»
|
| You gotta keep it sticky like Charlotte’s Web
|
| Blow a sack on a track, on a baller’s bed
|
| Hold out your hand baby, I’ll read your palm
|
| Like Kymo don,
|
| My game is on
|
| There’re 32 papers in a zig-zag pack
|
| It take two hos to make one track
|
| They say Huey Newton took two in the back
|
| What’s up with that?
|
| My dialog is in the rap catalog
|
| And tell the grim reaper you’ll catch the God
|
| So fresh. |
| (So fresh) So clean, (So clean)
|
| You’ll see Nicky T on flight six-14
|
| Like Billy Sims I tip my brim
|
| And Sunny Kim, why you fuckin' with him?
|
| Across state, 'cross county lines
|
| In your alpine is the master mind
|
| Picture my Van Gough, Your flow design
|
| You wanna hear a cat rhyme that I hope is mine
|
| Come here, yeah baby is my open line
|
| You gotta pretty face
|
| Dis' Pisces Hyphee
|
| Gin and coke Wu-tang in the Nikes
|
| I could never cheat the game in my life, see?
|
| O-khan I react like a Pikie
|
| My ki'
|
| Then Sunny called, Did you hear the phone
|
| Because a real rap lord’s been left a long
|
| It’s like rap-capone
|
| With dallas chrome
|
| Or Love Jones all in your bones
|
| Treat a girl like a freak, then send her home
|
| Like a ice-cream cone
|
| My heart is cold
|
| I’m kind of bold |