Lyrics:
slide
They tryin' to be all in the mix
Your girlfriend ballin' a 6, and holdin' my tip
But boo, there's only room for 2
Until I get the coupe for you
fraud, this kind of thing I can't afford, so I
pick up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it
The cough is a skillet, where MC's get fried in it
You got
dey mix am with soda
We dey shoot high and I mean just to prove that we older
They mistaking us to be dangote
Just me and my bitch maybe M I or one day
(*background is Black Sabbath's "Iron Man," performed by the group Metal Church*)
(*chanting*)
[Verse 1]
You could strike a match in my hand
Too
given
Its a taste its a snippet
Writ it in about a minute
Spark the skillet
Sauce i spill it
Mix it with the beat
I kill it (uh)
The plug you know i
that dial
I rock from Manhattan to the Miracle Mile
My name's Mike D and I'm the ladie's choice
I want to get next to you like Rose Royce
Y'all
right in the mix
So much that I had to go and make a mixtape about it
I know that life sucks cause everyday its surrounded by the
Same shit, especially
Yeah, hey, y'all hear me out on this one
Hey, check it, running in the middle of the night
We were reckless, tryna get a burger and the fries
And mix 'em up and drink 'em like Moet, till I hurl!
Rappers don't understand, I live day to day for a battle
Get you knock rock like gravel, now
gon ride I'm not by ya Side
Asking bout me now dey like Who Am i
I am dat southwest nigga never Changed still don't talk alot
I am product of da good
bartenders mix liquor
I serve you over the rocks, I feed you to my flock, now time to click triggers
Manslaughter in alphabetical order for four quarters
raw
I need the rocks with a twist
I need the booth for a bit
Please get out of the way
I need to spread my wings
I need to touch the sky
I'll always
Excuse me excuse me
I be the poetry man that was sent here by the WWBCC fanclub
You called the number 1 900 GET DA BOOT and you asked
smoke
My peoples need hope, and I'm the one with it
The soul provider; cold as fire, hot as ice
Rock the mic 'til I retire die, the son of Christ
stand tough, hands up, damn ya
If you don't get it get rid of it, trip if you diggin' it
I guess I got more than my balls, and my word
I got broads in
They was some lost souls
Said I won't leave you but we split at the crossroads
I'm falling off but i'm attached by a long rope
Tears falling down
born, came from the pines
Bummed out last week but I changed my mind
Til the day we mix the rock with the lime
And got the same people by our sides
Not
Backwood burn bout 45 minutes
Ima get high just mind my business
Tryna see the bank account hit nine digits
Then ima celebrate til I pass my limit
Know
stop me
I think dudes is mad cuz you not me
So you get a pen and a pad and you copy
But at the same time
Man, you could never get away
With the same
a old slavery linching
Now im on the right foot
Ain't no more inching
I get to the guap
No more penny pinching
She ride on the dick like she powered by
like i'm cookin' in the kitchen
I put a beat up in the skillet, then you know i'm bout a kill it
I'll distill it like it's water I ain't sip it
And let
And I get off like an acquittal, I spit it, you critique it
It feels like I'm bein' belittled by midgets
It's like holdin' a nuke or a damn bazooka
Give me a gram go higgaty ham
Busting yosemite sam
Keep going flow never could jam
Fuck you thinking I am
Give me a light t h c
Bitch mix it wit
fists hit crowns
Ride with a stick on me get jumpy
Niggas hate me but I swear they love me
Fakers all round I swear disgust me
Fussy
Older man they all
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