I'll rock your face like dominoes,
Steadly rocking those,
homo niggas in their facial bones,
Your fake like silicones,
You want me, them find me,
I'm in the cut, yo
With my eyes low,
From Henn- rock, and hydro,
Bustin' at these cats driving by slow.
No running truck, I run tank,
With a full arsonal.
I don't miss,
ain't got no need to reload,
I hit shit,
Like John Stockton's free throws,
Plus your jewels got me,
Hungry like those hippos,
You need to evaluate,
I bounce from state to state,
Looking for big apes, who hold weight,
With a burn-burn, and duct tape.
Beef with me,
You don't want that,
When I know where your moms at,
I'll have you wondering, where tha bombs at,
I'm a calm cat,
'Til niggas get hyper' round me,
Then I be their ridilin,
Put a new hole in your head,
'Cuz you got a problem listening,
Invading your private space,
Like a molester didling
Light the flame like I'm rekindling,
Eliminate the middle men,
And pocket all the profit,
I want to hit the tropics,
And cop that four story yacht,
With a spot for that chopper.
© Copyright 2016 Tyrone Slade. All rights reserved.
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