Activate my higher self I’m rising levels elevate, destination straight to heaven like Elijah fuck ya fate, got my homies locked n loaded when it’s time to navigate, Company of prophets who ya stoppin I got more to make. Turn your back then I aim for the soul, aiming for the flesh looks weak no no, Kdot strength got the game in control, no apologies I’m sorry you fold. When it gets to poppin you be jiffy on the stove, eating up ya body sacrificial to the pope, looking at you mothafuckas both the same woah, motherfuckas faker than the pharmaceuticals. Looking synthetic you try to impress em but circles ain’t fittin inside ovals, looking pathetic when searchin for blessins ya serving the god way down below, something to nothing I’m watchin ya stuntin before you be frontin I already know, Ate of off Hitler no food and ya thinner repeating the new downfall of Rome. Pipe bomb the mic like CM Punk on Monday night, flow tight when I lock the anaconda vice, tap tap Go to sleep bitch Obie Trice, best in the world didn’t have to pay the price. No diddy, no 25 to life, earth ain’t nothing but corruption to the weakened mind, stay strong as they try to conquer and divide, food 4 thought for everybody in the lunch line. Preach motherfucka preach yea I’m tryna reach to everybody in the streets yea word to Bobby T Get T’d like green if you tryna disagree with me on beats Imma take you off ya feet so leap homie yea you ain’t about beef ho me? Covered up in them STD’s td touchdown like I’m 09 Brees I breeze through the cornerback like Shockey on G on God my sins on his sleeve so bleek sad to say that we in this beetch my beetch lookin bad eyebrows on fleek on fleek that’s vine if you under thirteen 13 reasons why I gotta grind all week all week I be cooking up rhymes in my sleep you sleep all night yea you’ve woken up the beast police that’s 12 word to the fugees UGH! Look at the score, 3 tracks up and I got 10 more, throw a no hitter Arrieta with the form, swinging at the sinkers you ain’t gettin on the board UGH! Never no more, soul of mischief too rich for the poor, poor to the rich so I stick to the core, blended in the middle like a big liquor store. Gotta speed it up stomp the peddle to the floor, whippin in the Beamer modified M4, fully automatic get to clappin fasho, boot camp clik 06 Lets Go!

Anybody gotta get it when they grammy nominated it don’t matter who was hatin all I know the winners basic and I hate it when they claimin that they made it and your friendly with the man that raped ya daughter in the basement