[Pat Stay]
Who callin’? Let’s see - call it, Suge
(*Suge starts his first round before the coin is flipped*)
[Round 1: Shotgun Suge]
You like to judge niggas in your battles!
We kept the files
I’m that young Black nigga they expect to wild
I came dressed to see a judge, ‘cause I’m expectin’ trial
I expect him to judge me on how I’m Muslim, how I gang-bang, how I raise my seed
But you can’t judge me or make me bleed
Or make me put my hand on a Bible I don’t even read
Let’s get one thing straight, Judge
You be talkin’ heavy
You wanna be a judge? I cock the Dezzi
Turn it around, and beat a judge: Dr. Sebi!
You tried to judge Ars’ on losin’ his wife
Then you tried to judge Math on his anger issues and almost losin’ his life
You told DNA everything you spit is livin’ in proof
Then had the nerve to tell Clips you gon’ do him like your son when his moms is pregnant, and give him the deuce?
You gon’ judge me and say I got bad health
But you never took a step back to judge yourself
Like, what would your son think?
What would your son think if he knew his father could relapse on crack off one drink?
What would your son think if he knew whether he could see his father was left up to one shrink?
What would your son think if he knew you was racist and looked at me like the lesser man?
What would his son think if he knew his father smoked crack off a Pepsi can?
Red dot, the mag' beam
Think To Wong Foo… ‘cause we already knew Patrick was a cross-dressin’ drag queen!
Yeah, spirits flyin’ through the crib when I’m raisin’ wit’ the clip
Headshot: Patrick’ll be a Ghost, makin’ vases wit’ his bitch!
Shootin’ and drivin’ in a stick-shift, big Crips
You gotta pay, sir, (Pacer), stick clips
.45 on a big white boy: Rik Smits!
You ain’t nothin’ but a junkie who made a name
Completin’ rehab was your claim to fame
Funny guy: Damon Wayans
Bam Bam: these Bald Heads cause major pain (Major Payne)
I do hella shit! Mo’ crimes
Minivan, slow grind
The family wit’ you? Fo’ nine
Be a stunner, I hit the baby fo’ times
We ain’t nothin’ alike, pussy
Fuckin’ snow bunny
You pink and you white, pussy
I got the big .40, the Texas joint
Shit kick, hit P.A.T., and get extra points
.40-cal’ brand him, put his back on the griddle
Take his ribs, V-12 slidin’ wit’ his racks in the middle
I give a fuck where you from
It’s gon’ be a hot summer
I’ll fold the car to a messenger that’ll pull up on any block(ed) number
For 4 G’s, he get water damage - I run a tight ship
Liar, please, the vise grip
Who the leader? 15 shots, I’m packin’ the chrome
I hit the Chief wit’ a bullet: Patrick Mahomes
I’ll smack your mother on her deathbed!
(*smack, smack, smack*) Three of them thangs: Chef Trez!
(Pay me my money!)
You smokin’ pipe, the best lead
His bones, I’m Breaking Bad, meth-head!
He paralyzed, but he still talkin’
Look at him, lickin’ his lips, but he still coughin’
White boy hit the glass harder than Bill Walton!
Y’all know he heard me!
I ain’t got no mothafuckin’ slogan - JERSEY!
Who callin’? Let’s see - call it, Suge
(*Suge starts his first round before the coin is flipped*)
[Round 1: Shotgun Suge]
You like to judge niggas in your battles!
We kept the files
I’m that young Black nigga they expect to wild
I came dressed to see a judge, ‘cause I’m expectin’ trial
I expect him to judge me on how I’m Muslim, how I gang-bang, how I raise my seed
But you can’t judge me or make me bleed
Or make me put my hand on a Bible I don’t even read
Let’s get one thing straight, Judge
You be talkin’ heavy
You wanna be a judge? I cock the Dezzi
Turn it around, and beat a judge: Dr. Sebi!
You tried to judge Ars’ on losin’ his wife
Then you tried to judge Math on his anger issues and almost losin’ his life
You told DNA everything you spit is livin’ in proof
Then had the nerve to tell Clips you gon’ do him like your son when his moms is pregnant, and give him the deuce?
You gon’ judge me and say I got bad health
But you never took a step back to judge yourself
Like, what would your son think?
What would your son think if he knew his father could relapse on crack off one drink?
What would your son think if he knew whether he could see his father was left up to one shrink?
What would your son think if he knew you was racist and looked at me like the lesser man?
What would his son think if he knew his father smoked crack off a Pepsi can?
Red dot, the mag' beam
Think To Wong Foo… ‘cause we already knew Patrick was a cross-dressin’ drag queen!
Yeah, spirits flyin’ through the crib when I’m raisin’ wit’ the clip
Headshot: Patrick’ll be a Ghost, makin’ vases wit’ his bitch!
Shootin’ and drivin’ in a stick-shift, big Crips
You gotta pay, sir, (Pacer), stick clips
.45 on a big white boy: Rik Smits!
You ain’t nothin’ but a junkie who made a name
Completin’ rehab was your claim to fame
Funny guy: Damon Wayans
Bam Bam: these Bald Heads cause major pain (Major Payne)
I do hella shit! Mo’ crimes
Minivan, slow grind
The family wit’ you? Fo’ nine
Be a stunner, I hit the baby fo’ times
We ain’t nothin’ alike, pussy
Fuckin’ snow bunny
You pink and you white, pussy
I got the big .40, the Texas joint
Shit kick, hit P.A.T., and get extra points
.40-cal’ brand him, put his back on the griddle
Take his ribs, V-12 slidin’ wit’ his racks in the middle
I give a fuck where you from
It’s gon’ be a hot summer
I’ll fold the car to a messenger that’ll pull up on any block(ed) number
For 4 G’s, he get water damage - I run a tight ship
Liar, please, the vise grip
Who the leader? 15 shots, I’m packin’ the chrome
I hit the Chief wit’ a bullet: Patrick Mahomes
I’ll smack your mother on her deathbed!
(*smack, smack, smack*) Three of them thangs: Chef Trez!
(Pay me my money!)
You smokin’ pipe, the best lead
His bones, I’m Breaking Bad, meth-head!
He paralyzed, but he still talkin’
Look at him, lickin’ his lips, but he still coughin’
White boy hit the glass harder than Bill Walton!
Y’all know he heard me!
I ain’t got no mothafuckin’ slogan - JERSEY!
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