lyrical 300

and we continue on

william young

saigon

loaded lux

lyrical 300

is where we hold them

this is where we fight

this is where they die

yow

yow my spirit is unruly

if this was the days of your majesty

there be blood on the hands of every man on my calvary

am from kings county

with my 11th degrees say

vale me and i ain't coming back in the king's hand

what is born

everyone of them gimme they mean mug

imma backstroke

covered in nothing but king's blood man

i challenge anybody who think that they got talent

that's the greatest body

you dump them at buckingham palace

them am furious

keep ice grilling is that serious

you crying but he's talking

ventriloquist

my cell phone keep ringing

am not hearing it

your mistake thinking and am only your rap lyricist

big homie sent me a message to call back

but it's name popping up and nothing but smoke caps

see a scarecrow

he see me coming and know black

drink his brain out

losing the back of his straw hat

willie young

slay they said it was time to eat

so i turn the beat into sandwich meat

i put bread on it

these weak niggas can't compete

you nigga singing too much

and they got them dancing feet

i slap the shit out of them

if we ever get the chance to meet

am a philosopher that shoot like a photographer

but my camera is a hammer

y'all don't want to collide with ka

a colostomy bags

is how you go defecate

always ready

only thing i set is the records straight

so go figure

or get punch drunk with no liquor

just a overhand

right and a left vocal constrictor

cock the calibre back

get the work in my magic

and i ain't pulling no rat out of the side of no hat

f**t. oops

i was politically incorrect

for i born for you to take it as literally disrespect

my click will be at your neck

you bring my name up

the proof is in the pudding

not need i say much

but if blizzie was home

none a you dudes would be rocking these cubans

and y'all be getting called up

if stack bundles was still alive

the whole cube battle be screaming

if sly gillie is still alive

slay still rocking

street sweepers in this bitch

them niggas still popping

say something for their anniversary

don't say nothing

just hand the purse to me

this is the king dosage

the dope is hopeless in the ring open

cutting off the rope and hope

and lead they dreams broken

sting don't it

brief moments i take

they make you seen notice

need knowing

wrote it for the street poet

the rappers can't survive

i don't know

maybe after am alive

i hear you travel when you die

paragraphic am a side with no book full of plastic bag

characters provide

your audacity go round like that

the instagram might miss you

we go post you next picture at you candlelight vigil

and i might visit you

or random individuals

they get you a deal

go i bet your wife put it in you

am way nicer than you

they hang you in the venue

my name will be continue

they got my favorite on the menu

that's work nigga

do it till it hurts

no riddle

it's so suspenseful

church gatherings

earth shadowing

to dirt patches turn catholic

heard asking what they in for

the truth for thought no tin foil

looking at the world pool

i need to get my camo

my girl cool

she play her role

my favourite soul

could make a home

or flame a stove for when the day get cold

o.g in his robe complaining about the cold

when that old brown paper bag

money one trader joe

brick on the track