The Congress couldn't cage
his middle finger so the judge
I'm rotting on this paper,
trying to kill him with the buzz
So I'm rotting on this hatin',
The coppers come in cages,
metal fingers to the judge
I'm rotting on this paper,
trying to kill him with the buzz
So I'm rotting on this hatin',
Prick, it's true in principle
when you can't do the rent
forget a interview, verse,
who these hustlers trying to ridicule?
doing what they intend to do
A lyrical miracle, little nigga,
Who is better, not a veteran alive?
Can't match up what I'm measuring,
I'm peddling some medicine
You wouldn't play corners
I can tell you ain't as wise,
the hustler is global, you're local
And only thing you're doublin'
The soldier is sick and the
your flow need prescriptions
I'm nicer than whoever you know
metal fingers set a judge
trying to kill him with the buzz
So I'm riding on his haters,
so I'm setting up the bomb
Cause I gotta make it, make it
The shit is in my blood, blood
The coppers cutting cages,
middle fingers to the judge
trying to kill him with the buzz
So I'm riding on his haters,
so I'm setting up the bomb
I see you really came to kill niggas
When these niggas gonna learn?
they can't fuck with my n***a
J .R. motherfuckin' writer
Now n****s better catch up
4.8
