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Lace up your |
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Timbs, Queens, fresh off the blacktop |
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All foreign recital (?), fiends on the backlot |
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Back alley |
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Bronson always cookin' up a mad plot |
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The shit that have us laid in |
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Benzes with a glass top |
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Hash pot, stickin' out the dash spot |
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I'll leave a bitch in a vacant and let his ass rot |
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One seven for (?) an autobahn is where the cash drop |
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Then take the paper, then distribute to the have-nots |
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I'm on the scene, 26, and |
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I'm a manchild' |
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Lo machete, hoppin' out the fan's style (?) |
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Whether fightin' or graffiti, got them hand styles |
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I'll wipe the floor up with your face like a |
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ShamWowHands down, one motherfucker260 combined, here to bring the ruckus |
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The bassline plus the words raise the crime rate |
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Bronsolini show 'em how to hold a 9 straight |
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Yo, get off the next man's |
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P.PBe original, kid, get off the |
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P.PGet off the shaft or my chick, get off the |
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P.PYo, be original, kid, get off the |
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P.PYo, the drugs are rolled up, the money fold up |
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I like my bitches big-body like an old truck |
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With their waists sliced inches like the cold cuts |
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Been at the bottom of the sea, but then |
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I rose upFeet first, my voice is known to curl a honey's toes |
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Serve a pound of that, |
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I'll leave 'em with a bloody nose |
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Smoke the hash, take it, form like a puddy, holmes |
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Hop in the |
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Caddy, leave your body by a muddy road |
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A dirty rotten scoundrel like |
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Steve Martin |
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Drugs so good, |
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Fiend Weekly just three-starred 'em |
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I'm on the road, blow trees through |
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East Harlem |
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Just put me in a cage in the basement, |
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I'm retarded |
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German shift, twist, burn to bliss |
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I love it when the pussy tighter than a tourniquet |
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Copped the chicken, started cookin' and converted it |
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Dutch leaf, third of it, roll it up, murder it |
