Flight in, flight out, every single night out Lookin at people jumpin you puppets with no clout I got no deal in that part, no half a second movie I stay down low, my music touch still groovy I look at contracts whats up with Warner Brothers? My day on the sliver screens, with condoms and more rubbers You bet your socks again, this Bronx kid rocks again Smokin that blunt, your black lungs need oxygen Who you cool with, and stupid who you fool with? Never mind my mental friend I went to school with My style is pro, connectin to a confessional Breakin it down like tiny parts in a mineral I chill and watch MCs, they dont see me 2 hundred 80 million, a thousand try to be me Yo companys are dumb, bums signin anythin In the long run, youre stuck with a chicken wing Wastin your money these acts they cant rhyme Youre dealin with cornflakes, a lemon head an lime Everybodys mean and walkin up on the scene Theyre pure bacon, a brand new pack of sizzle lean I hate to walk on over and pull and pick your file Like a bandit i wear a mask and vic your style
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 05:17:43 +0000
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