[Verse 5: Crooked I] Slaughter season, yall the reason Real dudes Im bringing some mo in, like a Polynesian Sick with the llama squeezing, bullets flew and the chopper sneezing Got your body and legs torn, but before you was airborne You was bob and weaving still getting hit till your nos is weazing They set you deep in your coffin sleeping Im gone off the deep end, Im a wolf, this industry my sheep skin Im out here hunting with my ink pen, Im living like a kingpin Doing it for my gs in the pen, dreaming about two-piecing a police chiefs chin You rappers something candy coated, I dont like suckers Im Iron Mike, I dont like busters You looking for em fly dudes like Orville and Wilbur You got the Wright brothers, no bright jeans, no bright colours Im the second coming, the one that Pac predicted Islamic, Gnostic and Christian, the flow so godly you got to listen I backed you in a dodge a minute, like MC Eiht in a L.A. hat These rappers straight tryna dodge a menace Im looking at your videos, look like your watching tennis Brothers dressed like Maria Sharapova wearing yoga pants Meanwhile Big Poppa was rocking linens I guess that eras over man, hold on Im splitting atoms when the scientific spitting is getting at em I give em different patterns, they didnt fathom, they stealing my styles Before me you didnt have em You rappers made in my image like when God was inventing Adam Stab em in the abdomen when its crunch time I truly flip like Mayweather pissed of at a movie script Too many punchlines, family Im amongst mine I keep the peace like a monks mind .357 fade your favorite barber Leave you in an old bush like an unshaven Barbara Dont stop what we doing, when you see L.A. your team will be ruined This game need a new villain, Im the kind to murder you on vine Ooohh kill em
Posted on: Mon, 03 Feb 2014 18:22:56 +0000
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