Live from the eye of the storm
I transform
Shoot up the dance floor
Make your whores' pants warm
This is madness
Memoir the thoughts of a savage
Who packs automatics in Louis Vuitton baggage
I bash shit
Bloody a bloody ya whole rap clique
And jump outta Jabba the Hutts barge with a back flip
Bastion a never ending story on a dragon
I’m flying down the block with timbs and pants sagging
A catalog that will leave your ghostwriter dead
Cause I stay on fire like Ghost Rider’s head
Keep the toast by the bed
With supplies of meds
In a standoff with dreads and wise guys and feds
Okay, maybe I just play too much Xbox
Clash your competition like Yankees and Red Sox
I love when hoes call me big poppa
Sticking my dick in ‘em, inflicting 'em with stigmata
There’s no such thing, as too much hoes
Too much weed, or too much doe
Cause all I do is fuck, get high and get mine
All I do is fuck, get high and get mine
Night stalker
Cool as a white walker
Might dead the buy bread and slide for the side offer
Live author
Talk down to ya high enforcer
When I die, you tell 'em capture this look in my eye in portraits
I rise, my return (is) designed to apply torture
To live corpses of the side talkers operated, carnivore
With a carnival of monsters I created
A king maker who’s regicidal
My regimen reckless
Unrecognizable, unregistered rifle on blast
Catch these clips, the skit’s viral
Mind detect Mind, mine detects mines
I step aside 'em and
Address my rivals
I’ll send’em something they can sign for
Showing that your rhymes suck
Is exactly why I signed up Line 'em up Who the next to get doja’d
Get folded
I’ll put your heels on the back of your shoulders
Boulders, smash skully’s (Scully) like a regular Mulder
It’s over.
There’s no such thing, as too much hoes
Too much weed, or too much doe
Cause all I do is fuck, get high and get mine
All I do is fuck, get high and get mine
Yeah
Umbilical cord snapper
Giving life to rappers
Pounds at the left hand
Fuckboys wearing pampers
I hop out the hamper like honey I’m home
With your favorite robe on and put the crone to her dome
Dominican Republic, a presidential debater
Drug smuggler cartel the boy motivator
Playing raze and tag four corners elevators
Selling to him piece on stage, mic slayer
Rolling Stone rock star, eight balls, Bloody Marys
Bitches powder their nose, giving me head in taxis
Welcome to the Nutso show
Where fakes get exposed
Head chopped off, brain splattered to the front row
Call me Nutstigliano
I put my stigmata in a big butt stink Italiana
Five star amada, until mañana
no injections, natural nauticas
There’s no such thing, as too much hoes
Too much weed, or too much doe
Cause all I do is fuck, get high and get mine
All I do is fuck, get high and get mine
I’m shaking hands with many devils in the industry
Devils in the industry
Devils in the industry