Print

(feat. Percee-P) [Kool Keith] Yeah, what's up with all you stupid motherfuckers out there giving me that jive vibe and that jam jam, huh Don't come back with grass between your ass Cause I'm out here to last and move on forward past That's right, I gets deep up in that rectum and I checks them I got a problem, niggas is wack and they cold fronts Suburban areas, born and raised with no blunts Never had a gun, one to pump in a shootout Always went to church with mom and wore a suit out Who doubt, can it be hard faking these gods Yo Don, the kid down the block, he's writing your style Kicking your style, flaunting your style, jocking your style Did you see him at the Apollo and Following, swallowing sperm and Then throw up, blow up, then pick a ho up I never need to suck a dick for a deal I never need a car to pull a fly bitch I leave you standing like an S1-W Cold and freezing with your asshole standing Coughing, sneezing, begging, pleasing MC's smell like fish, that's a reason Oh you cut your hair bald? Letras de cancionesHey yeah yeah yeah yeah A lot of humane with rap skills Now you're selling your asshole dreams on Hollywood Hills Like a shark would bite, suck my deals with gills Cause you're no frills, taking feminine pills reel to reel My cock you feel, fuck that shit Your girl is wet as a seal You can't front man, act like a stunt man Fool of the girls, cause your lover is one man I know the girls and the girls that lick girls But it's hard to breathe with your bullshit gheri curls Don't try to step to the X with that ill shit I'm not P.M. Dawn, crazy man with real shit Don't try to play me cause you gotta do shows, hoes Wipe that shit out your nose [Percee-P] In '88 it was all about an ill flow Lyrcial goodies, not a hoodie and a steel toe Talking bout you wrecking parties, stretching hotties Catching bodies, then let me see you step to Gotti I stunned you with skills, megatons of it Fuck the guns and shit, I'll beat anyone you get I cut you off like a sharp machete blade Swear to God, the only card you be pulling is Medicaid Joke to me, broke MC with a gold head Wrecking, checking say better rhymes on my own shit I got a deal corruption and come up with But niggas like you just suck dick Like cattle, punk rappers I rounds up Yo chief, I turns your fucking beef into ground chuck You're pulling bitches? Nope, not on my block Nigga, the only hoes you can get is from my glock Boom boom boom boom [Kool Keith] Yo Don, punch the fuck in, you're late [Godfather Don] Body bag 'em, I stang 'em with lyrical dimes be hangin up Niggas that figure we're the triggers with fake triggers Never underestimate what the best will take Of the rest state of MC's make them bless the great Of some more top minds, align refine To the exaggerated potency of a glock nine I rock mine with tope rhymes in a lot time To weaker brothers, and others who debate I got mine I rock on beat off beat, toss meat Where's that skill, punk? You lost me Rehearse first curse cause we heard church worse And facilitate rehabilitate the message purposes Blood spatter, I'm mad as a mad hatter Rappers stagger badder rappers at a distance for instance Rappers get deals after kicking nil I'm checking skill after that's a drill technical bill Hearse blood on my first drug so leave nubs for hands My Tims land like Van Damme to Sam Man that's packing dust, the dust with a lush to bust Because of us you want to get back into lyrcial thrust But the mic you hold is overthrown Or should I spit out of my lung on my tounge I brought a Trojan Now I'm a disperse the verse and piece the purse And keep the Earth decrease when I drop a piece From Letras Mania