[Chino XL
Saafir]
You locked down with no bail money to get yourself loose?
Not fa' nuttin'
That's not what a thug would do
Uh-uh
I hit you girl for free and that's alright wit' 'chu?
Not fa' nuttin'!
That's not what a thug would do
Nope
Caught slippin' wit' no heat inside your bubblegoose?
Not fa' nuttin'
That's not what a thug would do
Uh-uh
Pretty skillianaire niggas about to spit it at 'chu?
Not fa' nuthin', that's somethin' that a thug'd do!
[Saafir]
Not fa' nuttin'. I'll jump out that mild-mannered frame of glasses
And start whuppin' your ass. It's the rap game killa masta
Kid who has a pool room with business and non-stop blastin' shit
Tore cagenin' in what your lungs' incased in
No comic book animation, just assassination
All you fake-ass nigs would kill a fasination
Cosmetic niggas would feel this villain plastic facement
Call me Father Red, but for you, you think I'mma get a higher rankin'?
You fly cats is chickens, you featherless
While you tryin' to get millions, I'm trainin' as a United States terrorist!
Drombin' these bomb before your planes get off the ground
Blowin' out the pilot and all flames that sound the same
Y'all niggas is B-12 bumped up wit' a pound of fame
I'm thirty-two degrees below freezin' in the game
But some of you love, gettin' crossed in the pair of pliars
I'mma call high yellow nigga keepin' hoes duckin' like a hair dryer
Saafir]
You locked down with no bail money to get yourself loose?
Not fa' nuttin'
That's not what a thug would do
Uh-uh
I hit you girl for free and that's alright wit' 'chu?
Not fa' nuttin'!
That's not what a thug would do
Nope
Caught slippin' wit' no heat inside your bubblegoose?
Not fa' nuttin'
That's not what a thug would do
Uh-uh
Pretty skillianaire niggas about to spit it at 'chu?
Not fa' nuthin', that's somethin' that a thug'd do!
[Saafir]
Not fa' nuttin'. I'll jump out that mild-mannered frame of glasses
And start whuppin' your ass. It's the rap game killa masta
Kid who has a pool room with business and non-stop blastin' shit
Tore cagenin' in what your lungs' incased in
No comic book animation, just assassination
All you fake-ass nigs would kill a fasination
Cosmetic niggas would feel this villain plastic facement
Call me Father Red, but for you, you think I'mma get a higher rankin'?
You fly cats is chickens, you featherless
While you tryin' to get millions, I'm trainin' as a United States terrorist!
Drombin' these bomb before your planes get off the ground
Blowin' out the pilot and all flames that sound the same
Y'all niggas is B-12 bumped up wit' a pound of fame
I'm thirty-two degrees below freezin' in the game
But some of you love, gettin' crossed in the pair of pliars
I'mma call high yellow nigga keepin' hoes duckin' like a hair dryer
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