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[Hook: Meech] |
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So much grams, unzip the bag |
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Dip in my hand then I palm trees |
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So when you throw shade, it could never harm me |
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(So when you throw shade, it could never harm me) |
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[Verse 1: Meech] |
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Lions don't lose sleep over the opinion of sheep |
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On the road to the riches, money sticking to my cleats |
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I am moi, magnifique, skin noir, Darky Meech |
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Niggas with the most opinions, usually have the least |
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It's funny how now rappers be on the druggy shit |
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Downloaded my tape, sat back, studied shit |
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Acid pack a hundred hits, shrooms, caps and hash bricks |
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Trippy like that Destiny Child chick, on 106 |
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This white bitch, had the fucking nerves to call me a nigga |
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When she the one paying the surgeon for her lips to get bigger |
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Do you get the bigger picture, shit is backwards my nigga |
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You sneak dissing, taking jabs, get your boxing on |
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Cause you ain't get the word, I'm Glock Lesnar in the octagon |
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This shit is straight absurd, do not hate me cause your life is shitty |
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I show no pity you turd, you better off in the dirt, naw |
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Now you better off dead, like the title of my work... |
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[Hook] |
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[Verse 2: Juice] |
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Everyday, me and Mary Jane |
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You might say I'm addicted but me, I'm truly lifted |
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Stoned so loud, you can hear me in the crowd |
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Smoking girl scout, sour by the ounce |
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Mary never cheat me |
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Mary not a backstabbing bitch that'll lie and deceive me |
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Spread it even! Even! Hash wax in the evening |
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Dab or die trying, on the road to Zion |
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Damn, they try and stick me for my paper |
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They tryna take me under, I've seen it through the vapors |
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Jealous ones still envy, got a couple real with me |
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And my bitch, will talk some shit and smoke the kill with me |
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Meech will hide the body, enough of that tho' |
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They saying talk is cheap, so I'll be smiling when we meet |
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They screaming "Zombies!" out in England |
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But I'm on the block with Mary, pushing and dreaming |
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Ah ah ah, I'm feeling myself |
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Thizzle, fo' shizzle my nizzle spitting riddles on instrumentals |
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Trippy life, blotter in the night |
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Fill my appetite (Fill my appetite) |
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[Hook] |
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[Verse 3: Erick Arc Elliot] |
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Could be your mans, or be your fan, or be your kin |
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Pay your dues, man I gotta choose, whether I lose or win this |
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Foe or friend, can't determine the difference |
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The instance they see you peaking, they pussy be leaking fluid |
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My nigga, what is you doing, all black in the back of a Buick |
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I'm proving I'm sadistic and sinning as I'm making murderous music |
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We don't rep the same things, nah, don't bother confuse it |
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So much stressing on my brain, momma think I'mma lose it |
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Human vagabond, hoes that stow they panties in my carry on |
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Why you hating niggas acting nonchalant (Honest bruh) |
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Fuck your publication that say I'm a third wheel |
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Architect blow your mind, set stress but won't swell |
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Oh yes, I smoke kill, I'm crack, you smoke krills |
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I pack, you dope deal, in fact, I'm so chill |
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I'm never off the pivot, six stitches to your image |
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Not offended, when you call me genius, all that means is... |
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[Hook] |
