lyrics
The boss of the yard, who’s a little off of the wall
I’m the type to stuff seven foot rappers in a coffin that’s small
I rock crowds, small spots, or Carnegie Hall
I have religion, so I be following God
I’m trying to do this rap thing, make some rap cream
I roll dolo, I don’t need a rap team
Yes, you’re gonna make it, you got some wack dreams
I walk around with a glove cause I be slapping
These fakes, frontin, thinking that they speak great
Be the same ones who wait for the release date
I rep MT, FBI, A X I S, never question I
Shouts to Uneek, holding it down
Palerider, Dorian Gray, you know that we, go for the crown
Josh, congrats on bearing a seed
Let’s drop an album before you prepare her to read
I’m back in the zone
I got a hunger to do this, I’ll even spit raps on the phone
I’m the one that the government actually cloned
The ultimate emcee, known for smashing your bones
Yo, I’ll never give it a rest
When I die, bury me with a mic and turntables on my chest, yes
credits
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