[Verse One]:
My gal said I need to work on my look (ya ugly)
I said, "Fuck it", filled the notebook to get 'em to look
I said, "You need to learn to cook" then she gave me a look
Then I tried to get some pussy and my ass got shook
Oh well man
Fuck it, back to the rhyme
Rockin' in the cockpit, I'm on the passenger side
Yeah I nasty, can you pass me the pine?
Cause they say I'm not shit, ain't got shit and I'm pass my prime
Man fuck it, it ain't hard to tell
Every bar hard as hell, I'm God himself
Shit, here I go again with the arrogance
Pops passed away, case of Miller for inheritance
Microphone terrorist
Backpack packed with anthrax, blank tracks and Jack, I carry it
Brass knuckles, brass belt, buckle to match it
Steel toed boots, I think I need a kick in the ass
Look, you say you paid like Coco and nice as hell
You must be takin' Hits From The Bong, Cypress Hill
Gon' kick back, sit back, Vicodin pill
Outline the chalk what I talk, license to kill
Yeah, from the twist tops to Oxy Cots
It's possible we popped in anything that you possibly got
Man this dude in rehab said to talk about feelings
He kept noddin' off from hop, what's the point of revealin'?
Yeah, heads say the joint is appealing
Raps my forte, Rappin 4-Tay, Don't Fight The Feelin'
Yeah, born in No Co, get a fifth of So Co
Plead the fifth, middle finger lift to the po po
So if you Robbie, Bobby, Ricky or Mike
Then cool it now and don't pick up the mic
Right? (right)
I don't rap lines
I rap flat lines
Murder in the first with the verse, yeah it's that time
[Interlude]:
What are your thoughts when facing an opponent?
There is no opponent
And why is that?
[Verse Two]:
Fuck it
Pass the mic patna, let me rock it
Beats knockin', nothin' short of nothin' in my pocket
I keep rockin'
Yeah, down and dirty to 30 will be the word king
Better rappin' than flippin' patty's at back at Burger King
Nothin' but flames gotta make the profession
Only bitches on my voicemail, they work at collections
Yeah, they like to talk about your pops so badly
"Fuck him", no fuck you, that's my daddy
Yeah, my sound well rounded
Like what's in the palm of Lebron
I put the pen in my palm from then on
Yeah, I've been on some levels
I'mma take it back to the raps, just the treble
I'm bustin' like heavy metal
My treble is trouble, the pen is a problem
I get it buzzin', like it was, if it was lookin' for Valium
Yeah, I be's that since the womb
So put me in illustrious apparel like a pharaoh when I'm in the tomb
Tomb, I've been cuckoo, cock ring
Get to the point like a pyramid, you are not Jay
O.H. and H in the pen
Rhyme nice like dime bitches sittin' at a table of ten
Make heat and keep pressin' I can speak silk screens
Stop the presses man, it's 3 Sixteen
Yeah, stop the presses man, it's 3 Sixteen
