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Letra

[Production by The Alchemist]

Used to have to pitch
Now I print cash with the BiC
The pad is a blank check
Embrace death, taste flesh
While the rhyme on the page is still wet
Far from fictitious
The cars attract the bitches
I hear the whispers
My palms got the blisters
By the 4-5, you're moisturized
The oysters are fried
Pull fives out the toy box
Be as lonely at the top
The watchband is croc
The palace is a Camelot
Don't ride the camel when it's hot
They channeling Pac
My chairmen scramble and rock
While I dance to the Spanish guitar
Spit the chorus
To stimulate the whore's clitoris
It taste like porridge
I felt rewarded, from the man
I ran from the warrant
The high-top Ewings is blue and orange
Flash Gordon

We still getting it
Piping dimes on the terrace
I'm thinking about my life where it's headin
I sleep with heat under the pillow
The cash is where I left it, it's nothing
I watch the city while I'm f*cking
I'm such a glutton
Gucci bucket with the Chukkas

Motherf*ckers

As a dove flew out the glove of the magician
It was just as I predicted
Reality is prescripted
Trees twisted, autistic
Gorgeous hitmen escort the vixen
Porsches, imported liquids
To buy a snake and acquired taste, we play for higher stakes
Wine and dine by the fireplace
Romantic, strawberries on the coke
My chariot approach
I vanished, parlaying with the players
Switch layers, Mr. Rogers, galoshes
Foxes to dance topless
I hit the spot that's erogenous, erotic
Brolic hips, hippopotamus, chocolate bitch
The clock is a Swiss, the chronic is lit
Gin and tonic, the mix, the Benz is a 6
Inside the Matrix, I'm the glitch
.357 with the rubber grip
So when the beef pop, the shit don't slip

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