Lyrics:
slipped
The Mac is cuttin records and punks are gettin ripped
Gangster I am, bust the lyrics like a drive-by
You wanna sleep? Well, it's lights out,
up the posse, It's time to get drippin'
I'm freakin' each sunroof, to keep ya suckers trippin'
Everybody's lookin', if your jealous, turn around
Taking trips across the world I love to travel
Dodging all you foes who accumulated scandals
Peep it reaching 26 was one of my goals
I'm shooting dice with
regrets, no abortion, had a son
By the name of Seven
And he's five
By the time I do this mix, he'll probably be six
You do the arithmetic
Me do
making real music is my purpose
And since the radio don't care, won't delete curses
Complaining about my verse knock ya out ya converse
Punk ass clowns
out, I'm the C-A-S-A-N, the O-V-A
And the rest is F-L-Y
You see I go by the code of the doctor of the mix
And these reasons I'll tell you why
You
out, I'm the C-A-S-A-N, the O-V-A
And the rest is F-L-Y
You see I go by the code of the doctor of the mix
And these reasons I'll tell you why
You
disguise you can suck my dick
Ima lay down look up in the sky smoke cake mix
You never heard this in your life this some punk ass shit
Punk as fuck so I
Sick rhymes and lyrics are my motherfucking trademark, realize it in a minute
When I mix this shit on top level you better fasten your seatbelt we’re
Yo you think them niggas out there impress me?
Don't none of that shit impress me
Oh I'm supposed to listen cause they on the radio?
Psh I'm
background)
I got that, whiiiiiiiiiite girl
I got that, whiiiiiiiiiite girl
I got that, whiiiiiiiiiite girl
[Juelz Santana]
Uhh, now let me introduce the world
around and get burnt like a CI
More bars than jail, nigga
Who tryna get a VI?
You dealing with stock owners
Conversation with stockbrokers
Make a call for
I been doin' this forever I swear
And I'm comin' up now
Might as well go and do what y'all can
Go and get a couple songs on the radio but stay
"Wake up Jean-Claude!"
Was the whole world made for me
Is it all make believe
Fabricated
Facing my facade
Maybe it's Maybelline
And we rule
regrets, no abortion, had a son
By the name of Seven
And he's five
By the time I do this mix, he'll probably be six
You do the arithmetic
Me do
meant to be
They be talkin' a lot, I don't hear a thing
People be jealous by any means
I don't argue with people who really fiends
Look at all that I've
on the beep, beep, beep
Fill a, nigga to the rim like brim
Do a drive-by while I'm suckin' on a Endo stem
Mix Hennesey with Thunderbird, Gin and juice
I'm
like punks who are picking flowers
Go for yours, we went for ours!
Start at three, end at six
Jam Master Jay is on the mix
For all the young ladies
cannot erase
Take copy and paste
Penning these verses and eight
The penmanship I exude is of dystopian taste
Characterized by world issues full
Of drama
spiritual essence
And he goes by the name of, uh
Hood
Check your rhyme, punk that ass or get got, F it (shit)
I lick buckshots, Hood, madman, I rip up
It was difficult to navigate the world as a homeless teenager. My father was right. It was hard. And the world was tough. I think about this time in
We put some of the illist from the West Coast into circulation.
You got swept under the world 'cause we is caucation.
Had you even second
And cocked, but now the clip's ready to peel on a punk
[Chorus: Repeat 2X]
Why'all niggaz better run, we ready for war
This ain't no game we off the chain,
Conquer
World interceptor
Radio silence, we violence, take up connecta
Dem all repenta
Spirit fi dem enta
Life like a boom box
Rewind selecta
This track is
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