| I can’t breathe again, demand seasoning
|
| The man’s reachin', I’m so cold like Pam and Gina friend
|
| Yo, Angelina Jolie can fulfill my fantasy and then
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| I plant my seed and then stay and leave it in and even when
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| Her man creepin' in, I say, «Fam, leave» again
|
| While my hand see his chin, goddamn, seek revenge
|
| And I’m antsy to win, like it’s ants in my pants
|
| Gotta tan wheat the Timbs, she gon' blow the King like
|
| Lance Stephenson, pause, fam speak again, nah
|
| It can’t be the end, even my nigga Marcus said
|
| «I can’t be your friend», ha
|
| Get it? |
| Marcus Camby can’t be your friend
|
| And it’s a double dare like Bambi with twins
|
| Jamie Foxx Show, oh, you fancy with them
|
| Fly so much I’m like «Are we landing again?» |
| Plan the agenda
|
| Man, we Avengers and we defend from
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| The land of the sinners and we them niggers
|
| With the E-R of course, got my feet off the porch
|
| I’ma need all the whores, head to DR, deport
|
| Ain’t gon' leave y’all the torch, ain’t gon' see y’all in court
|
| I’ma pee on your fort, I could eat off the floor
|
| You a peon, a dork, sellin' weed all for sport
|
| Killin' seed, all abort, Jay and Be gone divorce
|
| Jokes on me, of course, throw me the award
|
| Frontin' like you been fuckin' with this
|
| You Isaiah Thomas wit' the Cavs, just gettin' hip
|
| Which rapper should I snuff? |
| Say «Wassup»? |
| Should I diss?
|
| No MCs in Atlanta? |
| Let’s come up with the list
|
| Got CyHi, Quentin Miller, Translee
|
| Scotty ATL, EarthGang, J.I.D
|
| Raury, 6lack, Nick Grant, and Money Makin' Nique
|
| And yeah, let’s save the best for last, it’s, uh, me
|
| Who wanna battle for the bread and the bag against me?
|
| Who got Birdman to wire that cash? |
| That right, me
|
| I’m back at it y’all, it’s rap’s Barry Bonds
|
| I might run up on Tuma for RapCaviar
|
| Just kiddin', just kiddin'
|
| Tuma my nigga
|
| Deadline, nigga
|
| It’s over
|
| You’ll see, you’ll see
|
| Salt Bae on 'em, Salt Bae on 'em |