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Griselda by Fashion Rebels El don't hold punches, this that flying fists of fury You wish I had no leg to stand on with no pediatrist to cure me My life was like Eggs Benedict, crème brûlée to slam today Tomorrow's lobster macaroni, clam souffle and Those truly wack, who swear they got the crown get their rubies jacked My dogs'll smack you up like a Scooby Snack He face major or minimum slaughter I wouldn't hold my breath swimming in water Wanna stay winning more than women wants a feminine daughter Or men who wants a masculine son To teach how to shoot baskets and guns for fun You in the presence of a Jedi, gypsy read my palm and said I'd make it past the age that most thought that I'd be dead by That's one year shy of the GOAT, born out in Bedstuy And years after these artists overdosing off a med high Ruined your dance, spoil your whole night, what's in my loose leaf Is hitting hard like it was rolled tight, something you shouldn't take light Different from what the fake write, similar to a snake bite You rather me slow up and see my brake lights, then make flights From Detroit to Buffalo, puffing 'dro You in bad shape like my toughest fro I'm well rounded like David Ruffin's fro Cuffing your main squeeze before my plane leave I'm so cold, she slurp me up and catch a brain freeze Letras de cancionesThen I stroke and smack it in a smokin' jacket Oakland macking on some Coke and Yak shit Boom boom boom boom boom Ayo, .45 shells popping out, straight drilling shit Lagerfield rocking head to toe, in the lemon [?] PJ spilling, still a fish in the Fisker (skr) Dragged it through SoHo, right in front of Kith (boom boom boom) Reminiscing in my cell, I used to have the block clicking Duffle bag full of hollow points was the mission (ah) Ran up on him in front of his momma's house, gave him the business (boom boom boom boom boom) He tried to give me 30 counterfeit for a chicken No, no, no, no, three quarters Balenciagas These never dropping, don't even bother Tied gloves on the chopper, Stone Island fishing Then jump off brick, what I call a thousand dollar lineups Chill, I done sold bricks for real I took a pay cut when I signed my deal This for the culture, you wouldn't understand my sculpture Uh, this feeling is torture, I'm ultra Rhyming well, Blientele Before I rat, I'd rather fry in Hell What you know about laundry bags filled with mail 20 stamps'll make you a book You never ran the phone, you niggas was shook You never ran the phone, you niggas was shook From Letras Mania