Lyracs Lyrics

[Intro]
AYOOO…

THE TOP ONE.

[Verse]
I’ll never die.
Best eternal MC.
I’m so depressed, I made Pepsi turn against me.
This ugly duckly, is sexy, permanently.
Let me murder this beat. Reject the attorney’s fee.

Gettin’ neck from a burnin’ freak.
Let my BLIS-TERS leak, when I LICK HER deep.
Make the b*tch enslave me.
KISS HER feet.
Let her disrespect, ‘till the b*tch turns to sleep.

Then I return to the streets.
Quick burn of the green.
Flip the “third” on each, to the curb full of police.
Like... Word, pigs.
Beef.
‘Cause word on the streets?
Second grade? NYPD took turns in my sheets.

The real Abner Louima.
Be indecent.
Muthaf*ck the 26th precinct.

HARLEM.

Act right, and we don’t need the cops.
Call Ray Kelly “five”, ‘cause he needs to stop.

STOP IT, FIVE.
N1ggas want me NOT alive.

Start beef with REAL thugs, hoping to NOT survive.

Dropped from Interscope; I spiral when I dot my eyes.
I’m Iovo, when I cross my t’s. Watch the drive.

A 40-zip run.
I’m such a prick, I’d lick Gayle’s ass, just to get her shorty’s income.
Let 2 mil, RIGHT NOW.

THEN c*m.

Charles Gigolo.
Lookin’ for a vic-tim.

I admit to some. I’m a bit dumb;
Pull out a big g**, like, “Where you get them clips from?!”

I’m Charlie, give or take an angel or two.
The most familiar stranger to a few.

Put the game in a noose.
SUCH a strange view.
Sleepin’ in the wrong studio, can maim you.
Came from L.A., lookin’ strange to you.
Gang banged in the booth, by these… B-CRAZY fools…

Hey, look, I just came to say the truth.
But can’t say if it’s true, without displayin' proof.

WELL LOOK.
I DON’T EVER PLAY WIT’ CHU.
If I SAY it’s true? I hope and PRAY it’s true.

If so? I’m killin’ people.
NO GAS.
Go to jail with glue and DUCT TAPE ON MY ASS.

My cousin Scooter did it.

My c*ck is bigger than his, and he’s TALLER.
God got SUPER vision…

Unfortunately, I was under my own supervision.
Eat a uterus to hatin’ ass stupid b*tches.

Floss your balls with barbed wire, you sub-human n1ggas.
Jimmy, I love you. Just not your roster.
Minus a few? Fake rastas, and imposters.
I couldn’t fit in, ‘cause I’m a f*ckin’ Goth.
Word.

Shoulda’ got my head checked by the “doctor”.
Then Curtis bully woulda' thrown me in a locker.
And Marshall will throw my face into pasta.

I guess too much.
Kendra and her knockers.

I was harder than BEATINGS at every marketing meeting.
Kept it professional. Always started with a greeting…

I coulda’ had her heart in an evening.
EASY.
But Al Goldstein, said not to be sleazy.

Her lap was a wack MC, sayin’ “Eat me.”
And I’m shy, like, “Yo, throw on a beat, Free!”

No rapper with oratory skills, can beat me.

To beat me, you cannot have teeth, cheeks, a tongue, or a voice box to speak to me from.

I am the common cold, when I speak to these drums.

Add some fever, some ether, some tweezers…
And I can make your skull a speaker.
For SILENCE.

Like you said my name is loud?
I correct you.

IT’S QUIET.
Now, QUIT CRYIN’.

Butter knife your head off, like “Quit dyin‘!”
…
Then you die, and I get tight, like “Quit tryin‘!”

I’m ill, like Hill, on a trip to islands.
‘Cause I actually know a kid named Zion.

Oh, you know ‘em too? Quit lyin’.
Ayo. Pick a Ryan to diss, and diss Ryan.

I never double-cross.
Only ten-timin’.
Hamilton timin’.
Meaning, you can handle it, IN TIME.

Come find me.
I remember Shakia Stewart wanted to sign me.
Theo, the Hamilton lawyer, right behind me.
Like, “He’s every artist EVER."
"TIMES THREE.”
I said “Times three-hundred.”, he said, “Don’t remind me.”
My catalogue, is why I don’t have to battle y’all.

Your b*tch is bad? I say she’s not bad AT ALL.
Breath smell like p*ssy, and full-court basketball.

I am the reasons why, like “after all”.
I spit fire, like earth, wind, and.

Haters wonder why I rap at all…
…
B*TCH n1gga, shut the f*ck up, 'fore I snap back your bra.

Nice with hands, but my BARS will crack your jaw.
I smoke good.
For a buzz? Half a jar.

Certain n1ggas ain’t survive not even HALF a bar.
Freshest cracker in the league.
Packer Favre.

CH is a CHeesehead.
You will bleed from the head, if you read what I read.

BIBLE.

… Leave you a sea full of red.
You’ll look like Jada Fire, all them “seeds” on your head.

You “slutty ass, take it in your butt and laugh” B*TCH N1GGA.
You “ugly ass, muddy ass, swallow n*t for cash, get a cut of what is half, and find out it ain’t JACK” B*TCH N1GGA.
You “wifin’ up, f*ck buddy, ass don’t love me, slash, wanna love me for cash” B*TCH N1GGA.
…
Your life is surround by MAD D*CK, NIGGA.
Now keep lyin’ to the public, fake Magic N1GGA…

…

You put a band on her finger.
I grab her ass quicker.
Go through a dry spell, and f*ck the SH*T out a river!

Goin’ so hard, I can spit out a liver.
My d*ck is big. I simply live out the picture.

I’m harder than gettin’ raped by ALL of Harlem.
In one night. Go to another town, to start a problem.
Go to Cleveland. DECK LeBron.
And with my extra arm? Choke the n1gga who sexed his mom.

I am the Cleveland indian.
And the cavalier.
And sorry, Cam, I’m the most Harlem rapper here.

WhereEVER.
I’m gothic enough to wear leather, and so thugged out, my stare can TEAR leather.

Shoved the hanger in my ass, I see the future;
In ‘09, I replayed the scene for computers.
Two years before then, I wrote the song “Loser”.
…
Consider me the pessimism tutor.

“F“ the system.
It failed me.
… SUPER.

Gucci can rap?
But, F*CK IT.
I’m CUTER.

Real men wear pink.
Then I am GOD.
My pink essence had b*tches thinkin’ I am ODD.
Now they all DYIN’ to ride my rod.

Not now, b*tch, I DON’T HAVE writer’s block.
My d*ck is like an air conditioner inside your tw*t.

But fall back for now, because it’s ho-… Ah.
It’s kinda ho- YO, STOP TOUCHIN’ MY D*CK, B*TCH, I’M TRYIN’ TO JOT!

To quote Bill Bellinger?
I’m tryin’ to watch.

CH is key.
My flow works engines.
Put the BILL n1gga’s name in your search engine.

…
Rich n1ggas is tight.
Word.
Snitchin’.

I get dressed, and be the Bird and Pippen.
No “bull”shit.
I’m fly on the mic.

Lisa Marie Presley.
Ride ‘till I die.

High as the sky, with that lie in my eyes.
Don’t be lyin’ in my eyes, muhf*cka, no lies or surprise, when I ride up on a 9, and BUY.
B-Y-E.
Shots to your e-y-e.
I’m 5’7”, and iller than B.I.G., n1gga!
Because I’m M-E-D…
… I-U-M.
N1gga, why you spend;
All your time on these b*tches, all your money on your mind, and your mind’s on them b*tches, so that honey is a dime, and that dime, plus…
Another dime, plus…
A nickel? Is a call to a chick that’s way FINER.

Muhf*cka, I don’t have to wear designer.
I got khakis from Zara.
I will find ya‘.
Log into Facebook, and then remind ya‘, what happens when I get behind ya’.

If you check out the “t“?
Literally, if you check out the “tee“?
"Yo! MTV Raps", with the checks, no sleeves.

Matter fact, SHORT sleeves.
A short temper.
N1ggas don’t REALLY wanna remember…

I could bring it back, like Selektah…
A big WRECKA', of everything, except a RECTUM.
Unless it’s a white chick, and she deserves it;
Other than that, when it comes to anuses, I get nervous;

So f*ck ALL you assholes!
N1gga, WIPE.
I don’t even have to get a pen to write.

The reason why?
I been rappin’, since the night;
Decided to call itself night.

End of night.

Now it’s daytime.
Y’all n1ggas pretend to “like”.

Muthaf*cka, I’m not the one you should pretend to like.

Because at 10 to 5? That’s 450?
I could have everybody in YOUR city, come and rock with me.

Like… This is YOUR pity.
I feel bad for you.
‘Cause your whore is pretty.
And I snatched her from you.

…

I guess I considered that whore… YOUR city.

…

GOVERNOR HAMILTON!

*leaves booth*

… These n1ggas ain’t PLAYIN’ wit’ me…

END