Lyrics:
I got Blokhead Johnny
On the Beat
This that ish
You gon' put on repeat
I heard they was
Missin' R&B
I bet I got
Exactly what they need
I remember
up
It's just one too many niggas got cars and no land
One too many niggas with cash and no plan
One too many niggas that's tryin to MC
That's one
if the shoe don't fit
I make it happen like hormones, you been forewarned
I got you mad now 'cause I'm kickin that popcorn
It blows up in a couple
hear is retreat
And I'll bet all the cash on me that we getaway clean
I'm too raw all I eat with my sushi is soy
I'm moving step by step like a wind up
a clean nose, watch the plainclothes
You don't need a weatherman to know
Which way the wind blows
Get sick, get well, hang around the inkwell
Ring bell
Shootin out the window
Every single time the wind blow
Blazing up another bag of endo
Foe Foe be the alias
Run up on your bitch ass so you're scared of us
she want me blow her back in
Fuck that crash that let him know what's happening
Try blow off his hat I don't mean the cap ting
Reload on another
they ever did see,
was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee
where the cotton blooms and blows
right now
It's just, me, Aaron
We just happy to give you guys this mixtape man
Hold y'all over 'til the album come
Been working on that motherfucker
rapper about to blow
But his album came, and it was not good
I think it went lead or double copper-wood
So the silly little fans, they were misled
By
if the shoe don't fit
I make it happen like hormones, you been forewarned
I got you mad now 'cause I'm kickin that popcorn
It blows up in a couple
around
Broken hearts coming back together in a cigarette glow
Luck's just changing like the weather as the whisky wind blows, whoa
You can take one
know many pose a perfect picture Secretly they hoes
All that time you spent on writing it but you not Living by the code
I can't stop the cooking; album
can't fuck with you, can't trust you
Like r.i.p. talking down on gang
Get that money fast cause you know I can
I'ma get that chop, blow em' in the brain
up something heavy
Some mothers resort to getting rich off Newports
Back and forth to Delaware and VA
Yeah you can't blow, they takes hella years
that neck, not playing with a full deck
Make a nigga sweat below the waist line by my johnson
Where my tools kept, who I be? The code name PMD
a gun like a nintendo
They soft them niggas fallin when the wind blow
and i'm rollin up my window
Fuck em
[chorus:]
Came in the game as a youngin signed
suspect
That fills more body bags than apartments in projects
And as far as the coroners know
The autopsy show, it was a Shaolin blow
Put on by my
no ceiling man
Make the motherfuckers watch me like showtime
Johnny Depp, cinemax, bitch it's blow time
Nigga guess what I'm is, bank teller
You
southern niggas in these streets
Yeah I'm candy flipper, you can have a picture
While I pose like a playa, by the candy with ya
Koopa never have no time,
you did
I got a, headhunter that'll serve you quick
I got a, team of hoes you ain't seen befo'
With green to blow, sick with cash and cream fo' sho'
Gang
Boy, I start on one, I let y'all know
This gon' be the hardest and realest album y'all heard in a minute
Boy, it still ain't go
Ayy, I'm that
blast one by his eardrum
Piss run, you drop thinking you shot
Screaming like a bitch, kicks to your face
Shots to the body that shake like the bass
blast one by his eardrum
Piss run, you drop thinking you shot
Screaming like a bitch, kicks to your face
Shots to the body that shake like the bass
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