half-time

this some intimate thoughts in a porsche

sipping cris' through a straw

you wanted war trying get through her sure

i was bored

tried to get me a broad

not a bitch or a whore

i'm talking rank

trying to settle the score

diamond to dog

living like the kind in the air

peace to my earth

i swear that she the mom of the year

peace on my turf

ducking all the monitors here

beating the dirt

success is like kilometers near

stuck at my worst

karma talking dead in my ears

i'm writing this verse

same time i met with my fears

quarter-century but way way ahead of my years

i been gone since daquan seen him dead at the stairs

stay strapped though

never lack though

watch your back though

word to fat joe

we let them ninety-nine clap more

this the city called the rotten apple

now you know if you didn't know

nigga better pop a snapple

sitting in the room like

while the room is spinning like the bitch in exorcist head is

my mind is always on lettuce

paper chase

shrooms laced

herd the road is infinite

no chain

no pendant

no range

no bentley

my rhymes be shittin on lives of rappers you into

it ain't ironic i use a number 2 pencil

better pay homage if ever we you bump into

shotty pump hit you

momma grab the tissue

extra magazine make a nigga want a issue

saint laurant leather i'm like fonz with a pistol

in broad day i'll address any issue

and undress any damsel in distress if she into

dead niggas

and i ain't talkin about the presidents

or the evil residents

never see the bench again

all 4 quarters

it's onslaught pure slaughter

all aboard bitch cause it's all water

the messiah and the maestro

pen prolific and now i'm twisted off nice dro

thoughts gifted i'm not existing tonight ho

i hit her once slide shawty like the iphone

so i shine regal for the people and parana

one kiss for my girl

2 kiss for my momma

parted from my pain won't dissipate

this is missions on minimum wage

until i'm dug up out the grave; reincarnate

pour her ass on the glass off the bombay

i get around

2pac

just like the song say

gold frame of thought fuck your loss this is fonzay

the columbine of the comic-con

i'm blowing up for the common kind

i told you pigs i ain't fond of swine

i got my own shit

while you ride in mine huh?

and we causing ramadan and you not a soldier

need a shoulder you can cry upon

run from the ops

duck shots and maintain

timbs butterscotch

balmain at all aims

i ain't never flop my name hall of fame

drunk drive and swerve lanes

tonight we get

learn from the block we plot to get paid

ysl denim

j's is all suede

never ever flop my name hall of fame

drunk drive and swerve lane

tonight we get