viewtopic.php?f=24&t=111303
Every verse from me, brings emergerncy
I spit a dirty v, with such urgencey
Im a sick fuck, so what i say, aint absurd to me
I just curse to see, rappers cringe whose style is nursury
When i die, i want the microphone in the hurse with me
Whose first to see, thats everyone is worse than me
U could come strapped, but when u burst ul see
That im quick enough to dodge a cap
Than let off shots at ur LA dodgers hat
I told u to stop spittin soft, u need harder raps
Souths on their grind, but the lyrics, gotta be north shit
Cuz we keep it gangsta, chill with mafia bosses
Ur guns is nun to what we got in the office
Dont get hung up in the beef, man, u gotta be off this
So i suggest u call with apology offers
Dont take it to the hand game, il show u who the quickest is
Its this crazy mother fucker whose the wickedest
Guns hot as radiators, when i shoot at crazy haters
Why did god go, create me greater
Maybe ul appreciate me later, when im six deep
Ul see my vision expelled on a sick beat
People wanna stick me, quickly, but it cant be done
Il take what ever fate, life hands me, son
Do what i need to feed my family, come
Try to take my kins bread and butter
And i leave you dead, i smother
You with the pillow, down to kill slow
Pop a pill yo, than spit an ill flow
Now ya see ya fucked as a dildo
Fucken pussy, weapin like a willow
whose the champion? it cant be him
puttin rappers to sleep like an ambian
talkin bout the crown, well man u better hand me one
Im a criminologist, Ya system gotta flip
When i leave you missin lots of shit
Ya pockets gotta strip, When i let off lotsa clips
The chrome has gotta spit, Til ya dome'll rot and split
Have you forgotten thit, im the hottest with
The mic and lotsa shit, So i gotta spit
Til i got no breth left
smokin on the sess yes
Cuz all the stress gets
Whiped out with one hit
Clear my head as the gun spit
Shots off at ya stom-ich
Run it, god damn, u fuckin up my plan
Hand cram as i pull the trigger, gun jams
One man, now i gotta dip
Grab the coke, i gotta flip
Sell to the rosta cliques
Gotta Make some dough yo, Keep it on the low so
I Dont get caught, by the po po, Oh no
Bullets explode yo, time move in slow mo
let the fo fo blow, We got this shit fuh sho yo
whose the champion? it cant be him
puttin rappers to sleep like an ambian
talkin bout the crown, well man u better hand me one
U, ur the best, wait never mind
U should never rhyme, with those light as feather lines
Gotta pack berettas, nines, to get the chedder, crime
Never left our minds, gotta get a grind
U don't wanna step to me, on the mic
Cuz I make it smoke, like a bong or pipe
i drop bombs all night, like im sadam
And the fellow followers of the quran
Its the vereza-no, narrow-pharoh
Coming for the big apple like an arrow
On toppa ya head
Deadly with a gun, one shot and ya dead
Now theres droplets of red, blood all splattered
Im not gettin love, so i guess im flattered
Cuz comercial success has never mattered
My confidence is forever, never shattered
If not sellin records makes me a better rapper
Than thats a risk im willin to take
Even though im killin to make
A legit shot in the industry
U could take shots, it wont injure me
noone is a friend to me, an enemy, gives me energy