Tell them about the gun line, boss
That's four planes
They murked three other niggas
That's four planes

Blake Solomon's third
They was all buried on the fourth day
You're so sweeter than sorbet
And I don't care what neither of y'all whores say

I got swagger that'll make your whore obey
I'm giving them them hors d'oeuvres to bring in more hors d'oeuvres
I want niggas street smart
Putting brains on more curves

Them book smart niggas being circling
Four curves
Two hundred degrees
Burning them like triangles

But thinking that you fly, you can really be by some angels
Don't get vanilla ice
Don't get vanilla ice
Don't get vanilla ice

Don't get vanilla ice
Don't get vanilla ice
Don't get vanilla ice
But you don't even really know what to do with all this blood

You don't even know what to do with all this blood
And we're in a circle
We being circled like four curves
Two hundred degrees

Burning them like triangles
But thinking that you fly, you can really be by some angels
Don't get vanilla ice
Tonight, forty flights as you dangle by your ankles

Be too many colors that you look like a rainbow
So thirsty I gave my cup full of greasy urine, and he was thankful
Slithered on a hateful and a disgraceful
Spit until it rains more than April

For the victims and the villains, that's why they came in and think they able
So it's no time to warn em', cause we coming up with the cables
that I'ma clamp the hurt in
Clutch ya Aunt Mabel

And fold it up like a checkerboard left on a card table
Gone with the wind, but it ain't no Clark Gable
Think it's Clark Victor
You can think it's a large table

Suck ass niggas sucking ass to beat the logo
Put y'all labeled
I'ma run y'all over with a stash
And I'ma love y'all

And I'ma love y'all
And I'ma love y'all
And I'ma love y'all
And I'ma love y'all

And I'ma love y'all
And I'ma love y'all
And I'ma love y'all
And I'ma love y'all

And I'ma love y'all
And have you in the hospital table looking non-stable
They said that money talks so I rarely say shit
Letters from the bank looking at my statements

If you really knew the type of cash we was making
You would think the L.O. Dollar was exaggerating
Y'all can never fuck with our bucks
Y'all money masturbating ends up encastrating

You should be at a gas station putting in an application
We got the shit that bush used a clap for nation
For the fact they hate me I'ma welcome you to the feudal zone
And when I Google comb it's gonna have your pupils blown till your noodles gone

Ratatouille cuz that'll do him
Old news like old dude what happened to him
Blasting jackets, passing through him like pills
Dead, when you think they ain't coming

If deals for meals we ate something
Off HPs, that's eight onions
And it ain't nothing when they dumping
Deleting you cuz there's no escape or save button

In the beat the choppers just wanna say something
Put them all in your back but you stay frontin'
Lociano the type that'll teach a fighter
Beat you with this mic, choke you with speaker wires

I got homies with Pepsi, they cookin' coke up
Gets drowned and broke up, wait in the classic coke cup
Straight drop you for the dope cut
And let's keep it real, it's been straight and darkness since Lo spoke up

Here to blow your mind, I know your shit's blowed up
For all those that slept on me, I know they just woke up
Chocha and Doja, no sir
Exposure to my closure

We unloading and reloading on any freeloaders
Shoot you in the laundry basket with these dirty gas we toting
So don't be chosen, but we're disposing
Because we released souls and your body will be decomposing

Long after the deacons spoken to your peeps
And they leaving after leaving roses
Everything that I breathe is coldest
Polar piss, my flow is ferocious

Stay focused like, mmm, don't exist
Got a need to speed climb in a Lotus
Haters occasionally bugging me like fly locusts
Having a hell with slam chops or gold pits

I take the extra 20 for the 4-5ths
I'm on battle movement, how I let our flow set
You would think we was Mario or Luigi
How we get them points in from busting up those bricks

To get more gold parts, some gold kicks
Fire your flowers, shells, and then some Goombas
Spit flames so well, spit tails of the king
Koopa, Bowser, you should bouncer

Before I get you double quarter pounded by the announcer
All of the bouncers for at least a half an hour
How you sad and sour
Wishing that you had a counselor for mad amounts of hours

Said all men are created equal, but they pouting about my powers
I smoke sour, that's diesel
No joke, I get the munchies and devour people
And the way that I smell is like loud is legal