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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Run The Jewels
Run The Jewels
Performer
Michael Render
Michael Render
Rap
Michael Winslow
Michael Winslow
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Jaime Meline
Jaime Meline
Songwriter
Michael Render
Michael Render
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
EL-P
EL-P
Producer
Little Shalimar
Little Shalimar
Producer
Wilder Zoby
Wilder Zoby
Producer

Lyrics

Oh, my Oh, my Fuck the law, they can eat my dick, that's word to Pimp Hol' up Oh, my (You are now listening to Run the Jewels 2) Fuck the law, they can eat my dick, that's word to Pimp (yeah) I don't fuck with or talk like all these fuckin' imps Style violent, give a fuck if you deny it, kids (yeah) You can all run naked backwards through a field of dicks Fuck the world, don't ask me for shit, that's word to B.I.G I dreamt we owned the world, but I've woken up and it don't exist Soak it in and need no assist, you can't slap my wrist, I don't owe you shit Trust me, I'm a doctor doom, oper-rate of my pulse won't raise a bit Tip-toe on the track like a ballerina Ski mask in a Pontiac Catalina It's obese female opera singer You can run the jewels or lose your fingers Me and El-P got time to kill Got folks to kill on overkill He hangin' out the window, I hold the wheel There's one black, one white, we shoot to kill That fuckboy life about to be repealed That fuckboy shit about to be repelled Fuckboy Jihad, kill infidels Allahu Akbar, boom from Mike and El Life is hell, death's a bitch And these Fubar rulers getting rich I cop a zip, it opens up I smoke it up, go home and fuck C'est la vie girl, when in Rome I gave the face, please pay with dome My business card says you're in luck I do two things, I rap and fuck I fuckin' rap, I tote the strap I smoke the kush, I beat the puss I read the books, did the math Don't need a preacher preachin' on my behalf No teacher can't teach my arrogant ass I'm blowin' on crispy while readin' the scriptures as written by Egyptians while sippin' on whiskey Aye baby, you with me? Oh, my Don't cry Oh, my Don't cry Oh, my Don't cry Oh, my Don't cry We run this spot like a Chinese sweatshop Don't stop, work a worker 'til chest pop Cardiac arrested, I'm so invested I'm self-invented, that's no illusion There's no confusion You see the future, you fear the future I've seen the truth and I'm so deluded I been a better bad guy than I been better than bad Been a better bully, talk beatin' on my chest In fact, I'm half stack from a rack I been around the block, babe, I know a few facts Maniac, brainiac, run go tell them that AtLien, NY felon rap Handle me wrong, I'm snappin' Show up at your class, what's happenin'? Schoolyard bully with a fully automatic Heart full of pain and a head full of havoc Everybody stepped on the kid, I'm letting them have it (have it) Leaving, they momma to say, "What happened?" Who gon' buy my baby a casket? Fuck that bitch, I'm a bastard Megablast, I'm mega lit On Highway six and I'm not strapped in I don't crash, bitch, I just skid You got the cash, I'll make the trip I make the trip, you better pay Done worse for less, don't make my day I'm not from Earth, from far away I bust through chests like baby greys Runnin' the jewels of the game Whippin' the mixes like chickens of 'cain Spittin' the sickness again Parents is livid again Kids is just fuckin' insane Pointin' that pistol and fist for the chain Reppin' the symbol like they in a gang Delivery dope, like a dosage of dope or a nose full of coke for a junkie or fame Oh, my Don't cry Oh, my Don't cry
Writer(s): Michael Render, Torbitt Schwartz, Jamie Meline, Wilder Zoby Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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