Ok, check me on this one,
It goes money, power, respect then women,
Fuck change the game up which ever way I get um'.
Dont try and act big money, you owe me fugly,
And I stand behind my bars like I work for Coyote Ugly
The paper is stacked man, I eat bitches like PacMan,
I'll kill you in LA and dump you in Miami, like the Lakers did Shaq man.
I'm classic man, fuck disc's, I make tapes,
And clock you so hard, leave you seeing stars like you work for Bape Ape.
I spit sick rhymes, cause I get them tight beats,
And nowadays I get more ass then them bike seats.
My flow something you can't check, nah you can't wreck,
It's tighter than fat people wearing spandex.
And now? I'm closing Hindu's off like I'm BJ Ryan,
Ask ya girl her new day job, she say 'I B-J Ryan',
And critics say I push my rhymes too far,
Cause in my dreams I talk to Ashley Singh and Nav Kumar.
Yeah I'm that same Hindu out here with the cold voice,
And comparing you to me, like putting a Corolla next to a Rolls Royce,
I really don't know what ya ass is doing man,
Watch me bring out my Lil' Flip's, and I aint fucking with Houston man.
Fuck fucker's and friends, I match up Fucker's with slugs,
Fucked the game so much, that now I'm a sucker for love.
And you only fucking with play money, so Hindu switch ya cash,
Cause me? I got plans bigger than --'s (right text is that the name is left unmentioned) ass.
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