Lyrics:
fans use to call me
They call me Mr talkson Soro Soro . Master
Stand by the microphone say my Speech
All people give me ears let me Feed you with
wanna be your friend
Baby, you gotta trust me...
[Khalid]
Aiyo I live by the rules, trust nothing in skirts
Cause with that big butt and a smile,
the muthafuckin niggas with his tech.
He offered me a job said he'd front me what I needed
I said that I was with it dreamin one day I would be..
Mr. Big!
chorus:
Mr. Mr. Scarface from walking down the block
Out jumps some fiends and steals all his rocks
Pulls out a gun and shoots down all the fiends
Nigga I'm universal crackin down south (ya heard?)
Poppin my collar with my dick in your girl's mouth, ha ha
You act like you a dude you get smashed
the valley
All by herself, goin' on the ho stroll
Comin' back home late night with the bankroll
You know a bitch like that makes me sick
But I heard that she
Three Thou', poster child for big dick niggas raised by their mothers
I'm supposed to smile as if God knew that I would be troubled
Keeps me around, for
of
iambs marching. Who said that? Who is in this dark room with me?
Who is standing by my side? Whispering in my ear?
Breathing on my neck? Giggling? Who is
the valley
All by herself, goin' on the ho stroll
Comin' back home late night with the bankroll
You know a bitch like that makes me sick
But I heard that she
broken rib
Crack, crack!
Bones are crying
Mommy's crying and bleeding
And pleading
And then
Daddy wants to fuck
Dick hard, swelled with power
broken rib
Crack, crack!
Bones are crying
Mommy's crying and bleeding
And pleading
And then
Daddy wants to fuck
Dick hard, swelled with power
to riches
My dick cliffs
Leaves girls with Frankenstein stitches
I grab bitches by the butt
Give them a pain fuck
Stuck up aghainst the wall with their arms
or either in the sky flyin by feelin jetlag
Ya job I respect that, your probably regret that
Ya mad and ya broke I'm laughin where they cash the checks at
Ya
Now 'earrr dis!
Your man Kwest comin from Southside Queens
Gettin ready to hit you in the ear with a lil bit of FLA-VOR
Seen? (??)
[Chorus]
Me
ya ear like Jevon Kearse
I flex muscle outside I find a next hustle
Trouble with ya here and face the TEC-muscle
Even the best buckle win
I take it
and the mice run out
Don't gamble with ya life when my dice roll out
I made you
I made you
I made you
I made you
I made you
Mr Potato Head I Made you!
Yes I
combat
Fuck you losers, while you fake jacks I makes maneuvers
Like Hitler, stickin' up (Jews) with German (lugers)
The Mr. Meth-Tical from Staten
combat
Fuck you losers, while you fake jacks I makes maneuvers
Like Hitler, stickin' up (Jews) with German (lugers)
The Mr. Meth-Tical from Staten
rogue pistols
Walkin' contradiction like "quiet noise"
No words eyes blurred with my diamonds pores
Four karats in these ears make you call your boys
and had no ears
And he sucks at driving, claims his vehicle never steers
To look cool he hangs with 17 year old girls, got em roped
But as it turns out, by
everyone on Napster
Hi-Tek and Mood new exposure growing faster
Mr. Dibbs held it down along with Animal Crackers
It was Blueprint and Sage, tag them, add
motherfuckers tried to milk me
You'll get smacked behind the ear with
My phone or my pager
It's beepin' while I cut you with my razor
I'm not violent, I'm
with a sock
Don't even suck this dick, cuz the fumes'll make it go soft
She's cryin, "am I ugly?" Please I beg you to shut up
Left her a hard working
eyes totaled
Mr Wi-Fi, out a franchise go to
Magic, standby local's
Watch the track bust once I show my dick size to the Pro-Tools
I teach you how
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