| Yo this my third strike, labeled repeat offender
|
| Enter without an exit, dismember any contender
|
| Everything previous to this, you won’t remember
|
| Bear witness to this mental sickness and it’s twisted splendor
|
| Let me show you how it’s supposed to be done
|
| Leave you roasted like you busters posted to close to the sun
|
| Vocally dumb, focused on staying hopeful and young
|
| Every word I speak leaving thick smoke on my tongue, um
|
| My life’s so Hollywood but not like in the flicks
|
| They call me Willie Pickton cause I’m hogging all the chicks
|
| Easily dodging the six in my jet black attire
|
| Take the wrinkles out your shirt with the tire iron
|
| Automatic firin', hear the sirens but they never catch me
|
| Let’s see, I roll with more retards than Wayne Gretzky
|
| Dreams of models and yachts, all I got was a hefty
|
| Bitch that wanna sex me on a Kawasaki jet-ski
|
| The beat it got me bugging, fuckin' OCD
|
| At home cutting drugs up on my own CD
|
| Yeah, fuck a microphone I use an old CB
|
| Tugging on my bone the only way that you’ll beat me
|
| Ain’t tryna brag but you looking at a veteran
|
| I’m the one these swag rappers thinking that they better than
|
| Thinking that you thuggin' with the G-Shock and the snap-back?
|
| I got bitches rubbin' on they g-spot when Snak rap
|
| There I fuckin' said it, bet it never get regretted
|
| This shit embedded deep inside my head, never forget it
|
| My history’s a mystery, on my dick where bitches be
|
| This ain’t rap, it’s wizardry — Picture pain and misery
|
| So when you’re done dissing I’ll be tongue kissing your grandma
|
| Send a picture to ya cause I got it on camera
|
| Canadian grammar — (Fuckin' giver eh?)
|
| Beaver meat and strong beer fueling my delivery
|
| Goddamn, there he go, fucking up your stereo
|
| We ain’t playing games no more, you still stuck on Mario
|
| Once you start to like it, I’ma change up the scenario
|
| Burn your flow — Danario, shallow like your burial
|
| Body every beat in sight, never been an even fight
|
| Keep an eyeball slightly open if you’re tryna sleep tonight
|
| Never write that shit uptight, all you pricks is too polite
|
| Ignite the wick and hold this burning stick of white dynamite |