Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick Quick buck, maybe a chain With that fucking flow s-s-so belittles men tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, listen The description fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it In turn, these critics and interns admitting the shit It just burn like six writ it It affixed them digits, and simultaneously "Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, he?" One adolescent, fucking energy And crawling fax like a rich nigga centipede Crack ceramic and a hand out of cash account Stamp and shouting, thrashing, niggas done let the Kraken out Crack-a-lackin', like snap, crackle, your ammo off Hide your face, and throw flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga (Sweatshirt, nigga)
'87 roof top, Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw (Brutus in booth, double scoop, hock vomit up) (Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas loose) Bruh, I don't with no cop (Rolling that flow swamp) Catch me stove top (Rapping to that rock) (Passionless in old clothing With them doors open) (Dim the lights, focused) Like it's nothing, it's nothing, bitch
From a that's recession-hit With stress niggas could flex metal with, to rake pennies in Desolate testaments trying to Jekyll-ish But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay Breaking death's less important when the Lakers lose There's lead in baby food, heads try to make it through Fish-netted legs for eyes that she cater to Ride as the fucking sky that you praying to So I sit, eye in the pyramid God spit it it's truth serum in that beer and then Disappear again, reappear On top of a lear, steering it the kids' ear again Provider of the backdrop For the crack rock and the mascot, Earl than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop Salivary glands, fluid for the matchbox Striking, wait, wait, who the you badder than? Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and Spitter of the Nick, nimble, rickrolling Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage
'87 roof top, Whipping tryna boost raw chronic (Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock up) (Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas loose) Bruh, I fuck with no cop (Rolling with that swamp) Catch me stove top (Rapping to coke rock) (Passionless in old clothing With them doors open) (Dim the lights, focused) Like nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch
Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you ain't about shit around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz Bulletproof outfits, concealed I'm ready to kill, so it, all my weapons is real Selling thizz, couldn't him what the recipe is Got 'em wishing they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers Send chills up spines of fat after Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money Little boy told me when it's to ride, they'll send them for me Ain't nobody me, niggas ain't prepared for heat hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit If this was '88, I have signed to Ruthless Nine-four, had them walking down Death Row First is the best go, hate is what the rest do inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you" So it's Raging season That big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless Everybody hard until it's God they seeing soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don't believe it But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the Heat your home like Southern Gas, police pass Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm the heat drawn Strapped up long as the for police armed where the beasts are, north of the Beach A couple streets Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks with the pork face, Jewish for the court case Here to save you from the sorbet, Coldchain
Like it's nothing, it's nothing, bitch