Blood On The Wall
[Verse 1: Crooked I]
It's a shortage of trill niggas so I'ma increase they birth rate
To fill the future with real niggas I'm at the sperm bank
A million Crooked's walking around when they turn eight
Tell 'em before they biological father lived in a ? cake
So niggas hate, is that your reason
Louis Vuitton vest, it's your fall season
I draw squeezing, you fall wheezing, your jaw bleeding
The herk beeping, your shirt leaking, we all even
The church peeking, trying to stop your momma from lifting your limp body
I embody everything that got him bodied
And if you kill me first I'ma rest in peace
Wobble over in my grave when I know that you're next to me sleeping
Yes indeed, murder's your destiny
My homies ride for me and expect nothing less from me
If it's us against the world the globe is the underdog
And unless I get benched I'ma ball till my number's called
Rappers say they only draw when a gun involved
I draw attention when I'm spitting, I'm sonning y'all
I draw a picture with writtens hanging on the wall
From new rappers I got to meet to battle me happily, that'll be none at all
Imagine a genius writing time travel theories across the chalk board
Now imagine him being a Sophomore
That's me or Prodigy, I should be on a golf course
Talking offshore accounts instead of ducking law enforce-ment
Doing a hundred cent in a bent riding
Hiding behind your biting tent, oh you fancy huh?
Rhetorical, not trying to ask me huh?
Cause if you really knew my struggle you would ask me how
Did I grow into a boss from a ashy child
Better yet ask your bitch I make her cat meow
Told y'all it's the Philippines, I'm Pacquiao
Now, hit your boy with a Max B "ohh"
Ohh and we out
Not yet, I'm the lyrical inferno
I'm the pinnacle eternal
You got a series like me but it ain't identical, paternal
I general my circle bizzerk with verbals
A criminal with unlimited herbals who finna blow some purple
Yeah hit the dank hard, drank hard
Thank God for the bank card
You snake frauds and you fake mobsters
Fuck the whole world, you ain't COBsters
C.O.B. Circle Gang, yeah we straight monsters
Holla at a ghost writer when you on the West
Get your bars up like a Schwarzenegger shoulder press
If you slept on me, I guess you know the rest
Long as you know your shit ain't old or less
I'm bound to be epic like a MJ show
Or Kool Herc in the front row of that MJ show
50.000 fans showing love to the architect
I almost shed a tear cause my career ain't even started yet
But make way for your favourite MC's
MM 4, BE 3 and the Agent is Free
#OKBYE
One more thing (what's that?)
Aye Cindy...Brandon wants to know if you would marry him
I need to stay of twitter
Tomorrow's my birthday
So I had to get this out the way
Cause I ain't gone know how to speak english