Lyrics

"When three guys, will slide into your cell Wrap your ass up in that blanket They gon' kick your ass over the side of that bed And do bodily harm to your asshole, by stickin a dick in it" They looks at my styles, like a crackhead does upon a rock And pipe to get hype, I got 'em dirty fiendin for me Losin pounds for my sounds, that knows and tilts consumes the liquor 'Til the 40 gets killed, I bite that apple lick my lips like LL Doin it well, shock the world, charm your momma Verbalizin your girl, don't fuck with sorcerers with lyric bombs You know we got spells, abra-abra-abracadabra Grabba, this rapper can abra-abra-cadaver another rapper Change yo' range yo I drop my styles offer than an obtuse angle, I'm threatening Miraculous things be happening, every time I spit The verbal through speakers I'm on the court while you sorry niggaz sit in the bleachers Cheerleaders, fear leaders, sissy niggaz with skirts I'm catchin waves like white dude surfers with tans My King Kong style, climbin buildings, holdin yo' bitch I'm dichotomy to everybody, I'm fuckin melodic Niggaz comin out with drama, lookin mad histrionic I bounce uniquely, get up on this land, destroy you like water Yo mother nature that's my hoe and I been pimpin her bro My conversation's built like Spider-Man, it's neighborhood friendly But expands like Apocalypse for niggaz that's envy I back yo' team up ten yards cause yo' partner was holdin I sacked your quarterback with fifty sacks, this money I'm foldin He just an inmate with a cock up in you, {?} my style "Dead as a mouse" "Your butt's in jail", "so why you pushin it" "In the house of pain" You got to handle it Bill, yeah, yo check the reason I hear you scream loud, your cell door's full of semen Prisoners catch you, posin hard like a statue Too many men in your crew, but not there wit'chu You Coppertone, put your wig on, you start to moan Walkin your hallway, your panties shine, in the doorway Cell block, you stop, inmates, you on they jock Seein protection, big men hit your midsection You gettin bumrushed, by TV's with a yeast infection You on call, for a warden standin by the kitchen You snitched my man, here's a tape, take a listen You on security watch, walkin by the door I explore more, raw to the deepest core Yeah, have you on 4's "You are his kid, you gotta clean this cell You gotta wash his drawers and socks And he want to fuck you in your ass, you'll let him And if he want to sell you to another prisoner, he'll do that too"
Writer(s): Keith Thornton Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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