Lyrics:
funny
I ain't even on the cabbage, got me runnin'
I ain't even on the cabbage, got me runnin'
I'm off the Percocets and bitch, I'm off the molly
So
me (over me)
Issa no from me (no from me)
Issa no from me (no from me)
I can't let you get off, killer
Smoke you like some dope for me
Blood
with a dumb honey
Bitch, get off my money
Ain't got no diamonds
But I'm shining like I'm outside
And it's sunny
Now I'm chilling with a bitch on Pluto
change the dial
A lotta sacrifices
A lotta bloodshed
They sleeping on me but I’m on top of the bunk bed
I keep my cool running
No bobsled
Human body
off my access as of late
See life was great until its
Seismic earthquakes
Came to shake me down
To the ground
I move like I do
To try and keep my
You can't play me, not today
This shit crazy
Niggas they be, in the way
I'm too wavy
You can't play me, not today
Yeah, I started off rapping
whittle sacrificial finalies
I can tie my boot laces alone
Save your knee deep offerings
Sorta bring puke coughing bunk
Persona to light (I might)
Build
imagine sharin' a cell
With a nigga you never seen before
He offer the top bunk, you like, "I need the floor"
Read magazines 'bout guns you only see in
again, it's the large amount
Bad bitches that I'm fuckin', but still can't put the hood hoes down
Got a bitch comin' out the south, eat it off the bone,
without astral projection
The sluggish rugged discuss bunk that hovers
Acme lab rat escape barely breathing through the heating vents
I'll try to come
on the engineering
Tip, my man dj premier from gangstarr...we're gonna kick this off
Something funky for this track, know what I'm saying?
Now when it comes
Another life fulfilled
Fifteen hundred red cases
A multitude of faces
The body in the basement
Double on the bunk bed
You better watch the babies
Straight all cranked up
You've got the tank full, and the night off
You got no where you've got to be,
Hey you're sure looking good cowboy,
Now all you
[DJ Clue]
Yeah, the world famous DJ Clue
Desert Storm
Jump off Joe Buddens, on top
This go out to all my niggaz
You ain't gotta chain, but you got
Yeah the world famous DJ Clue desert storm
Jump off Joe Buddens on top
This go out to all my niggas
You ain't gotta chain but you got a
Mean
Ah, you fat bubba-mubba-wabba
[ Daddy-O ]
Speaking of a girl named Suzy
Said she'd do anything to soothe me
Take off clothes or put em back on
Ain't
we got for the ninety-flow shot
I'm the, brown bomber droppin' verbal scuds
I write rhymes while my momma peel the skin off the spuds (yeah)
This
the score we got irons we goin pop shit
Cut off your throat if you try take off my shit
Lift up my stick if you try take off my shit
Tryn meet a nigga tryn
clothes medicine
Wielding out the smokestack factory trained to capture in the zoo's ghost predators
Food clothes medicine
I think I'd funk a bunk colony
on)
Can't stop me now, nigga, hold on
Big Double R, it's the Rolls truck
Blow the dust off, get it back crunk (yeah)
Go on a move, better mask up
T making a cameo (Booty)
Get them double like some bunk beds, bump heads bitches getting Beaves with the butthead
Snap that, Snapchat, then slide in her dm
on your paper chase and I will kung fu kick your face off
I crush frames for breakfast
You punks laid to rest bitch
Fuck lames kicking bunk game man that's
bitch
21 zips dats skunk
Thats a pound and 5 zips in the trunk
I really get tree by the trunk
Spent 18 months on that bunk
21 zips nigga pass
get em picked off like the pitch off
And I'm jigsaw wit the proof
Can't get cha bitch off me but the ps gone had to double wrap it then I flew it
Yuh
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