[Verse 1]
At this time I'd like to welcome back my congregation
That's been waiting patient for me to distribute this information
About this rap game and its quality disintegration
And stop blaming Waka Flocka—he ain't why your shit ain't blazing
Maybe something about your lack of originality
And your content is a constant bragging right about your salary
Then you're mad at me when I burn a verse like a fat calorie
And I hurt you even worse, your woman is feeling me fanatically
Dramatically I push myself to the brink of this art form
Of course you ain't charging me, you're a rhinoceros with no horn
I'm monstrous at home in a conflict zone
My natural tone is hazardous then slash gashes through your blood and bone
So I answer the phone
"Hello. Can you call me back?
I'm blowed and scribe scrolls until there's bruises in my finger folds"
I'm mad at Rubin, spit it crude enough to start a riot
My mind's fried like everything in black and Latin people's diets
Psychotic, iconic, ironic, modest, honest
I'm provided with a lot of excited exotic vagina
Behind the stained glass windows with pictures of angels
Where the holy water's been replaced with Judas blood to pray to
Kneeling in the pews
Following the father's maze
More crowded than Tijuana whore houses on dollar days
I am past the
Point of being a pastor
Inside of this wicked church I prove master
At this time I'd like to welcome back my congregation
That's been waiting patient for me to distribute this information
About this rap game and its quality disintegration
And stop blaming Waka Flocka—he ain't why your shit ain't blazing
Maybe something about your lack of originality
And your content is a constant bragging right about your salary
Then you're mad at me when I burn a verse like a fat calorie
And I hurt you even worse, your woman is feeling me fanatically
Dramatically I push myself to the brink of this art form
Of course you ain't charging me, you're a rhinoceros with no horn
I'm monstrous at home in a conflict zone
My natural tone is hazardous then slash gashes through your blood and bone
So I answer the phone
"Hello. Can you call me back?
I'm blowed and scribe scrolls until there's bruises in my finger folds"
I'm mad at Rubin, spit it crude enough to start a riot
My mind's fried like everything in black and Latin people's diets
Psychotic, iconic, ironic, modest, honest
I'm provided with a lot of excited exotic vagina
Behind the stained glass windows with pictures of angels
Where the holy water's been replaced with Judas blood to pray to
Kneeling in the pews
Following the father's maze
More crowded than Tijuana whore houses on dollar days
I am past the
Point of being a pastor
Inside of this wicked church I prove master
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