Tyson is a foul holocaust,
Hitler gash your whole head up with poultry, I'm fed up
Ig nore Cordon Bleu, stand up,
get up, lunch for your knife
Don't forget your pot holders
Hot shit, what? These old things?
that make them don't fit like OJ
Usually I take them off with oil
as crabs in a barrel past the old bay
Hot as hell and it's a cold day in it
Some say the price of holding heat
You either be in a coffin
The one that's too fly to eat chupai
it comes down to you and I
A lot of niggas wish to die
They need to hold their horses,
You're on the list, if not,
Timbs is made to kick your bumper climb
I coulda had a V8, F -150 quad cab,
Hustle that night to try to rush me
Dwight passed the dutchie
so they don't get it twisted
Take it from the fireside
Got it, what happened? Oh, it's not lit
These metal fingers be holdin' hot shit
When I was four, I penned
Back in 77, still got Nan in the crescent
The effervescence of God's
Un like vapor, esterol, extra roll,
Peace to the hard -workin'
Looked up and down, said,
Poor music tastes ten years from
Rappers don't blow up, heads do
I'm serious about this curse of mine
I strive to flip it in the fine wine
Black, not white, red all over,
I make music every weekend
It's a chore, a fact of life
A labor of love, I get mad love
And it's wages, you know death
I'm serving life from this gift of God
Don't forget your potholders,
Background music playing.
5.0
