Bitch
I came from the ghetto
Banging, slanging from Geppeto
Lames ain't up on my level
Spraying haters with the metal
Listening to every Devil
Wasn't thinking about no action
Niggas get to steady pedal
Wasn't thinking about no packin'
Backpacked in this rap
Game, since backpacks and my
Classmates, I rather black
I'm back snappin' on wack lames
WAIT!
Motherfucker, I ain't ate
I remind them of the 90s, what I'm writing, Ima body
So try me, if you want to but you writin' kinda sloppy
I'm the sickest nigga livin' Ima switch it... and transition
Then critics get to bitchin', the way I spit it is the slickest
So don't get it fucked up but know that he fucked up
Tryna read a Blackberry with flows that he fucks up
Or you used the lyrics, that was back to haunt you
So who's who's spittin', matter fact your songs blew
But he missed his shot, he thought we had fixed the rim
So how was he suited for this when he was brickin' 'em?
I'm just throwing out these lines, lookin' to catch the bait
After this first forty-eight, they gon look and investigate
They're tryna bury him, got his label sick of tryna carry him
His career has been in DANGER since he's quite irrelevant
It's definitely embarrassing, that he lost his elements
He's in the deep water, tryna find his air again
[Incerpt from Sway]
...fucking wack ass rappers! (Talk yo shit Sway!)
I hate you!
I hate you for thinking you could rap (gun shots)
You're polluting the game! (gun shots) (Dirty drawers!)
Fix your mouth (Rotten mouth!)
Fix your lyrics by getting rid of them (gun shots)
Wack rappers your time is coming to an end (gun shots)
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