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You could throw me in a lineup, rough beard Thick knot and my shines up Mediterranean bezzle rocks planted like saltines Worth about 600, 000 in the auction I still jog in the hills of Brazil 12 eggs and my conditioning coach is Anderson Sil He's a prize fighter and me I'm a prize writer Time ya'll industry niggas recognize fire Boric acid mixed with ricin Don't stand under a tree cause my flow is lightning Some say I should be prosecuted, death by lethal injection Electrocuted or Malcolm X'd em Or send a Chinese bitch in the club to stretch em And if that don't work then it's on to the next one Beef, we could let it cook fry it to perfection Got the bulldog snub that'll cave your chest in Ay, o my moms never knew that she was nursing a wolf And I wrote this on 9-11 covered in soot Spitting tobacco out my mouth with Claiborne fatigues Posted under a Brinks truck, waiting to squeeze Stay on point like a nose of a marlin, Spartacus brawler Pressing you pussies in public, nigga, you stalling with Nowhere to run, faggot, ill grab your ear My shooting arm stay fresh like a bag of gear Goose coats yachts diving off of big boats Letras de cancionesMy bitch pedicured up with a sick throat So cold making u stutter I, I, I can't believe Ghost is still gutter Everywhere I go I'm plugged up Cohen's optical frames of Breitling, dipped with a crisp cut See me on a Jackson 5 cover, next to Randy They had black fros, mines was sandy Buckwheat Jackson From Letras Mania