[Round 1: Prez Mafia]
This is what the people wanted, Law
So real rap, it's either you or me
Your tall ass gonna need a Lux angle, or security
But spell it out, secure a T; why do Law wanna fuck with me?
See it's more than rap
Don't give me what I want, I'm taking off a scrap
That's to bang heads
And then I cross arms, that's a spoiled brat; you onto that?
Well for bitch-made niggas, I keep berettas cocked
You'll hear a bow, wow
This nine-eight take Terrence spot, lord
We on BET nigga
Are you gonna bet or not?
No Law, since we on BET, nigga
Win, you betta not
A new age drum
And that shit'll send you back
It's like, no lil nigga, you can't come
With more punchlines, than when the kool aid done
Woosah!
Look here, bum
You ain't a pimp
I'm mean, to be loved
I let it sing
Like Prince Hakeem
Computer Love
This one auto'll tune out this weak broad
Computer thug
I'll catch T, while's he on his keyboard
Wait, bring it back
Computer thug
Y'all ain't see board?
Look on ya phone, son
T by Y on the keyboard
You about to lose bad, only height is a debate
'til I ask you for a boost
Just to knife you in the face
I'll cold cut 'em
I go ham in New York
If you owe something
I'mma let it ring in Times Square, I'm Joe Buddens
Got a Tommy that I named Big Shirley
I'm cold fronting
And if Roscoe come to the door
You ain't a G
Nah, Martin playing Roscoe, clips stand about knee high
Nigga please
These are kill or be killed bars, for a hard win
For the green, I'll leave you dead on the lawn
Put up ya guard then, wait
Green, leave, dead on the lawn, put up ya--nigga I'm fighting them
I'm from the X, man'll storm on ya block, you'll never see the light again
Just Ty suited up
Like yo, y'all niggas hiring?
This is what the people wanted, Law
So real rap, it's either you or me
Your tall ass gonna need a Lux angle, or security
But spell it out, secure a T; why do Law wanna fuck with me?
See it's more than rap
Don't give me what I want, I'm taking off a scrap
That's to bang heads
And then I cross arms, that's a spoiled brat; you onto that?
Well for bitch-made niggas, I keep berettas cocked
You'll hear a bow, wow
This nine-eight take Terrence spot, lord
We on BET nigga
Are you gonna bet or not?
No Law, since we on BET, nigga
Win, you betta not
A new age drum
And that shit'll send you back
It's like, no lil nigga, you can't come
With more punchlines, than when the kool aid done
Woosah!
Look here, bum
You ain't a pimp
I'm mean, to be loved
I let it sing
Like Prince Hakeem
Computer Love
This one auto'll tune out this weak broad
Computer thug
I'll catch T, while's he on his keyboard
Wait, bring it back
Computer thug
Y'all ain't see board?
Look on ya phone, son
T by Y on the keyboard
You about to lose bad, only height is a debate
'til I ask you for a boost
Just to knife you in the face
I'll cold cut 'em
I go ham in New York
If you owe something
I'mma let it ring in Times Square, I'm Joe Buddens
Got a Tommy that I named Big Shirley
I'm cold fronting
And if Roscoe come to the door
You ain't a G
Nah, Martin playing Roscoe, clips stand about knee high
Nigga please
These are kill or be killed bars, for a hard win
For the green, I'll leave you dead on the lawn
Put up ya guard then, wait
Green, leave, dead on the lawn, put up ya--nigga I'm fighting them
I'm from the X, man'll storm on ya block, you'll never see the light again
Just Ty suited up
Like yo, y'all niggas hiring?
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