I be shutting niggas up when I talk
But nothing’s ever gonna get done to me
Y’all ain’t gon do nothing at all
I’m gon be talking shit forever man, ever man
Shut the fuck up when I talk
Nothing’s ever gonna get done to me
Y’all ain’t gon do nothing at all
I talk about your ass forever man, ever man
Last name Voorhees, first name Jason
Like a loaded pistol, boy, I ain’t nothing to play with
You don’t want no problems, that drama be too horrendous
Fuck you and your feelings, your Momma the who offended
Pimping ain’t easy, but bitch I’m in the building
I’m the smack man, I got a backhand like Serena Williams
He hungry like them Africans on the TV asking feed the children
Even though he be eating like he Sicilian
I sweat brilliance, I shit genius
You on fire till I come by you and extinguish
I’m distinguished, I’m bout to quit writing
You bout to grow a set of hooters while a nigga just wing it
My dick swinging, it’s slappin my leg so much the shit’s stingin
You heard who better than me, bitch bring em, uh!
He stepped up like Rocky, he’ll probably be finished
He’ll go from looking like he Balboa to Rocky Dennis
You thought you was winning
‘Til every tooth in your mouth is in a pouch in your pocket
The next time you talk to your dentist
These lame niggas say they bodies is endless
Get in my lane, they license to kill is probably suspended
I’m fly, feeling like I got wings and I’m in the air
I miss my flight, tell the pilot I said, “I’ll meet you there”
Cause he too rare, there should be a sign on every vocal booth
That says, “If Nickel-9 cues to do your beat, beware”
Last name, Pay Me, first name, Fuck You
You collect and call me by my alias, it’s What Loot
Find me with your bitch my dick out, with a mouth on it
Take her round the corner a couple times, put some miles on it
Take her round monsters, OGs that used to be slaves
For Reagan helping to fund the Iran contra
Poster boy for gun rap, I got all kind of rhymes
Done about my guns cousin cause I got, tons of em
I ain’t no, industry nigga, I don’t do no events
I got some red carpets that’s under my shoes in the Benz
He so street, when he do it, the sewer’s his twin
He spit that shit, he should spit it into a depend
When it come to rhyming, I’m a Ducati, your dude is a Schwinn
I don’t do parties and you, you just do men
My crew just too sick, your crew got pooper scoop dicks
My crew just drink and do chicks, nigga, y’all ain’t gon’ do shit
Slaughterhouse dynamic is Ortiz too mature for beef
Joey kill you with his words, me, I do it forcefully
Crooked is the smart one, but don’t you get it twisted
That nigga there, he will kill you I been to see how he living
When I brainstorm, actual rain comes
I am one with the streets
I Sam Cookes the beat until change come
My brain got different compartments
One, it holds the psychosis, one, it holds the explosives
One just got a note in it that says on it
“Homie knows that he dope, he stay on his toes, he ferocious”
It’s hopeless to focus on me with negative energy
You’ll only lose your focus
I am not the best, I am death
Now let God and Satan iron out the rest
Ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha
That’s the victory laugh
Ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha
And since I can’t do another nigga beat
Without y’all try thinking I’m dissing him
Shout out my nigga Drake
Now get the fuck out my face ‘fore I fuck you up
نظرات