You better bite your tongue, cuz if not you’ll fight a gun
My raps are street like a bum, I write scum
Corner raps, you caught a crack in your skull
Tryin' to talk back to the quarterback
I call shots, I sold pot to old twats
I ran through different blocks like I had no pops
I get vexed, attack your headset, kid you’re dead next
You ain’t sick, you won’t flip
I don’t trip, I don’t get pimped
I got ownership of all of my own shit, I’m not homeless
Like all you rappers on your label’s dick
Ya not controlling your shit like you’re a disabled bitch
The Brooklyn hustler with the
Psycho-Logical family
You disrespect us and we’ll bust shots at you randomly
You gotta hand it to me, I made alot happen with nothin
clappin for somethin'
Bump this, rock this, pump this, obnoxious
Brutal slang, psycho shit,
toxic in boxes
Kid sit back, absorb it, cuz you know this shit be morbid
You wanna flip? Go flip pancakes
I can’t take cats that front with fake handshakes
You’ll need more than a hundred bandaids on your face
When you get laced with blades, I can’t wait
Your time’s comin, watch it kill you
As I kid I fought dirtier than Mildew, and I still do
I’m still ill too, like when I was a kid runnin through the
PJ’s and I mushed you
And I’ll mush you again, you’re soft like a cushion, don’t push me,
I butcher men
I don’t mean to brag, I sold green in a bag
To fat pigs and old men who need it bad
jipped
but never popped shit
Cocaine with cut
inserted like a Glock clip
I had to walk it, before I was able to talk it So dont look at me awkward, get off it