Ima savage with mics on a Saturday night,
packing a pipe, doing wrong like I'm passing it right.
I'm feeling gone, ain't no rapper in sight,
mastering flight, so high that disaster could strike.
I'm on a steady pace, my reddish face is the telling ace,
til I'm expelling waste, vodka with the melon taste.
So smashed, put the lighter to the tumbleweed,
higher, yo it's lookin like I'm climbing up Rupunzle's weave.
F*** ing keyed, yo I light it and inhale blunts.
I ain't talking lightning when the rhyming starts to flare up.
They seen me coming like they hiding in their air ducts
to watch they b*** 'bob' like a 1920's haircut...yeah.
Yo I'm rappin the truth, back in the booth,
off the dome like retractable roofs.
Savage to boot, I be smashing ya troops, blasting ya too,
spitting 'dope' like it's packed in my tooth.
I flip the score like your hits are a bore, sick of rapport.
Writing 'fluke' like you're Christopher Moore, scribble the floor.
Dawg I'm blasting, like that sh** you stick in ya drawers,
trigger to store, yo I'm hitting like theres kids at ya door (knock knock)
Yo it's lock stocked when the blocks hot,
glocks cocked when the flock talks, then the shots pop.
Kid's in Osh Gosh playing hop scotch, eating pop rocks,
always got caught, a distraught plot.
Yo it's sad sh** when they blast clips, cash grip,
yo I wait for it to pass, when the fad slips.
And these bad chicks, tryna ass kiss, flash wrist,
it is madness, yo I just can't have this....yup.
I am in a different constellation,
if they tryna bicker than I stick em on the pavement.
Liquored up, I ain't sipping on it patient,
dudes will get obliterated dissing the amazing.
When I find the dank dro, gotta bottle it quick,
spot me with them strange hoe's always jocking my dick, slobber and spit.
A mawf*** ing prophet with this, dropping the hits,
until the day I topple and tip....never....
calling it quits, cuz I'm goin for broke, and zoning off smoke,
you froze from the dope that I wrote.
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So much flow that I'm floating the boat, hoping you'll quote,
cuz in that case I'll open ya throat, cuz see we holding the throne.
I'm f*** ed up off the Sour Deis, a pound a week,
and keep that sh** around my fleet.
The type of dro that'll cloud the streets, drown ya speech,
till you faded and you hit the f*** ing ground in heaps...
I'm bounds and leaps ahead of you, yeah I am past ya,
bring the whole pasture when I'm tryna match ya.
Goin' rogue, I ain't talking bout Alaska,
everybody knows that with the dro I can outlast ya.
Mac with the book, like f*** the PC's, bust it easy,
you should bump my CD.
I'm heavy in the trunk, ain't no punk can see me,
skunk and leave these, dumb f*** s for freebies....
I been, coughing smoke, known to thought provoke,
I'm stocked fa sho, and know that what you drops a joke.
Yo I am prone to accost a bro, sock ya nose,
cuz these kids are gettin beat like a foster home.
My flow boils, the lobsters know...
yo all these pills that I am poppin, tend to leave me walking slow.
I might puke dude don't rock the boat, cuz I got shots to throw,
it ain't over till the opera show...
So when the liquor is, sickening, and it starts sinking in,
fidgeting, from all of the hours you been sipping gin,
think again. I ain't tryna be another simpleton,
sitting grim, living in suburbia in Michigan.
F*** that, I just bust back, steady snickering,
at these dudes that are fitting in, I'm on a different wind.
Bickering, to these other rappers I ain't listening,
they spitting wit the minute men yo Shaymlus bout to finish them.
Yo when I lift the pin, toss it when it's getting dim,
lit again, dawg I am a monster with these written gems.
Getting tense, always staying posted like a picket fence,
lifting ten, twenty, thirty pounds of that terrific hemp.