Lyrics
"Monsieur le juge, ce cahier contient des notes rédigées.
J'attire votre attention sur les changements spectaculaires de style d'écriture,
de ton et de point de vue. Ce que vous avez sous les yeux,
ce sont les pensées intimes de plusieurs personnalités différentes.
Si vous me permettez, quelques explications... merci
I lick a shot in the sky,
A war don, you're gone cousin Optimus Prime,
You a bitch, one of 700 Solomon's wives,
I was in Constantinople during Ottoman's shine,
My glock is a nine, my thirty-eight Wesson a beautiful bitch,
You rhyme like a hoe, find a more suitable pitch,
You bout to find out why German Lugers exsist,
Dig a hole, bury yourself, beautiful ditch,
It ain't a single man living could fuck with the beast,
Gay rapper, altar boy you fuckin' a priest,
Fuck a cop, dirty pig we buckin' police,
Dirt bag can't make money, he stuck in the streets
What you think? I'm sittin' in this cage for nothing?,
If they release me it's curtains, that's why I live in the dungeon,
All black nothin' lit up, I set up walls,
And hang body's that I hit up, can't fit us all,
Warchild got machetes with old blood on the tip,
Paz sittin' with artillery to blow you to bits,
Shit, King Syze with the getaway,
All black UConn, shoes on everyday,
Gun play nowadays more frequent,
More real niggas mad fallin' off the deep end,
And your life depends on me,
I ice out the whole joint and put ya men on freeze
You can start a riot in here, now who's wit me?
Who the fuck gon' ride when this shit get shifty?,
Where my niggas at? I know who ride wit me,
This Pharaohs shit fo' life, they gon' die right wit me
You can start a riot in here, now who's wit me?
Who the fuck gon' ride when this shit get shifty?,
Where my niggas at? I know who ride wit me,
Spur of the moment I could strike with a strategic blow,
I hold the heaters low and ground you up inside a Peter Roll,
Explosive botanist, obvious that I plant bombs,
I stand out in crowds like I got flourescent pants on,
Satanic candles lit in my recording room,
I'm makin' hits, singing songs of death in Autotune,
Put a bear-trap on ya ankle, drop you off at Foot-Locker,
Mug the manager like, "What the FUCK'S POPPIN'?,
Punks drop it, while I stand tall,
You see me, you seen the greatest rapper, mondern man's call,
Electric meat-shaver that's a modern man's saw,
Percision chop limbs after I body slam y'all,
Hands off, body chopper, bloody opera singer
Satan's trigger finger, rock the bells in Hell, call me a dead ringer
Freddy Kruger sweater rocker, Beretta cocker
I dead a copper, head to Czechoslovakia before they spot me on security cams
My maturity shows when I take these young rappers and I murder their flows
Including Weezys and Jeezys, if I had a genie
I'd make major label rappers Ice Cubes and Eazys
Monster with the freeze when I'm conquering MCs
I be airing rappers out like I'm sponsored by Febreeze
If you stop to get some Zs I just haunt you in your dreams
Smuggle yey from Medellín and vacation in Belize, believe me
You can start a riot in here, now who's wit me?
Who the fuck gon' ride when this shit get shifty?,
Where my niggas at? I know who ride wit me,
This Pharaohs shit fo' life, they gon' die right wit me
