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Dominick Senior let me tell you what the man’s about I don’t dress weird and talk funny to stand out You pushin quarters, petty hustlers get ran out Put that quarter back in your pocket unless you Dan Fouts True vision, I ride around on a food mission Don’t get in the way of nutrition, my dude listen The tool’s hidden, yeah I keep that wig splitter under my gat like a beautician with a tooth missing Green pieces of paper, weed trees from Jamaica 16 Bars, 16 keys and a scraper These are the things that a street G see when he made ya Tell the chef [...] in my gator I kick a flow off the loud, then I flow off the dome just to throw off the crowd A nigga in his 30′s ain’t no Mohawks allowed Catch a ho off my smile A gorilla lookin’ nigga eating a banana in my Range Rover Them snowbunnies smelling pheromones from a lane over Ain’t no I in team, but there’s two “i’s” in Wii And when we go Black Ops nigga, game over Kill em all until nothing is left homie I do this while I’m chillin’ with the cousin of death Think I’m from Wu-Tang how I’m fuckin’ with Meth My crew slang, keep that under your breath, we move things Moving top speed to the top [...], you can not be serious nigga that you can stop me I don’t do what’s popular, I overlook you like a good view does the city through some new binoculars You gettin’ money you can mob with us, I’m flashy like a shootout between 2 photographers Still they call the security when Crook strolled in Letras de cancionesI’m really just a deep thinker dressed in wolf’s clothing I got a pulse but my wrist looks frozen Fuck with me and death’s door is gettin’ pushed open Funny how a hater want to stop a nigga’s shine Make me wanna grab the Glock, cock it, and pop it in his mind Instead I’mma pour a shot, top it with some lime I’m sippin’ on vodka strong as Chewbaca in his prime Thinkin’ God forgive his kind, so opposite of mine So I’mma hit the grind til I’m the topic of the time See I’m confident that competition’s hoppin’ into line to fall victim to apocalyptic rhymes So poppin’ shit is fine, not to my face, say it to my back Cuz I’m ahead of you whack niggas, blame it on a fact When your paper get jammed up, blame it on a fax While I’m in Saks snatchin’ everything hangin’ on the racks I used to reach out ’til my arm would get tired I ain’t reachin’ out no more, that offer expired Matter of fact, this entire song is coffin inspired Draw then I fire, you fell off, you lost the desire Caught Alzheimers, forgot the lost art of raw rhymer G-shot, niggas all kinda small timers This tune is an open wound to a salt miner C.O.B we a food good men like Rob Reiner That’s why them hoes be on us when we with Mr. Porter Told you we gettin’ head or tail quick as you flip a quarter Think of the best rappers alive from 5 to number 1 If I ain’t on the bottom then nigga switch the order Stop the presses, hip-hop ain’t dead but it’s rockin’ dresses You got the message, from the Apex Predator From Letras Mania