Young niggas run this shit out here
No hook
Yeah, Sir Real J
(Sir Real J.)
I’m a District Maniac
This tricked, spit sick wit ‘till I reign the track
What type of game is that? The type with no aiming back
Chilling with some trees, taking shots where Cheney at?
Gazing at my pendants, and 80 grand benzes
Through ray ban lenses, Jay has expenses
I be, sick as an IV
Try me and I’ll bring you back to your senses
Fall off, no but really fall off
Got the hottest calling shots and we mocking molotovs
And lob ‘em at all y’all. Halt or get hauled off
To the altar, off and offered to the top dog
I’m just kidding, I’ve been tripping in my Hollywood loft
Sipping and swallow pink shit by the bottle, tryna stall coughs
Now I feel awfully different, can’t stop from spitting off top
Wait I meant getting off topic, let’s get some tonic on rocks
You tryna see stars, we scarred, still got that keyed arm
From when I hit the heat hard
When I hit you, you meet the ER. Fuck PR
All you do is steel bars like it’s rebar
I’ve been under the impression, that’s there’s only this direction
It’s been non stop moving to the top slot section
Onslaught in the booth, spitting automatic weapon
So where is Charleton Heston? Cuz these beats need some protection
Cuz I just fuck em up, with that sucker punch upper-cut
The ovens what I’ve become, because my heat be running up
Like heat stroke, when the beat goes, a kilo got me Steve-O
Got jaws I’m in beast mode, got pause I’m in Tivo
My cause if for these folks, to see how I rewrote
The status quo, an animal, I’m ill and there’s no antidote
Taking shots no cannon though, the hammer go, and damage foes
Get Barry’d like Manilow- the mans below, the granite stone
We a finite type, I’m the finest
Finalist in the fight for finding life’s finance
Currently, my currency’s been flowing with a current’s speed
It’s surreal- wallet staying tighter than my rhyming. I’m signing off
(T. Rose)
[Y'all done fucked up now, I've teamed up with a white boy]
I'm already proven stupid but I'm boutta go dumb again
Your bitch is like the end zone, watch a nigga run it in
Masked up, all up in your crib like I'm your son and shit
Watch me peel a rapper, get it popping like some gum and shit
I be on that money shit, racks over everything
Trap life, whippin up the crack on the karosene
Dick her good, wish she would ask for a wedding ring
She can hit the door, like she out Christmas caroling
Shout out to the Terapins, Chili fuck da city up
It ain't take a lot to beat the top, its like a titty fuck
I'm a bottle popper, you ciroc'ing out a sippy cup
Made it rain on her, you was hating like "precipi-what"?
Nigga precipitate, you should get scrilla straight
I be tryna pitch an 8th, you be tryna catch a date
Got me on that pick a prize shit, boutta catch a case
Now you on that live or die shit when this semi spray
Boutta go in overdrive, these hoes of mine, are so in line, I work a bitch like over time, she's so a dime, I stroke behind, I broke her spine, I owe a fine, I told her I'm, I'm the coldest kind, patron wit lime, Damn
Name another nigga cold as I
I got bars, I'm bar codes
Chips, cheese, I got nachos
I stack lettuce, u got beef, I keep shells, tacos
Chain the color of charcoal, bitch the color of lemonade
If time is money, I'm an hour past, you niggas minute made, bitch
