The situation has begun again
This time I'm in a better situation
We pillage through villages with the illest of grimaces on our faces
I used to wear my boots with no laces
My homie Pain told me, "Nine, finish your breakfast"
Jesus hangin' from my necklace, I perfected
The wordplay necessary to invoke an emotion out of the listeners
Bald heads, fill up the clip, look like a bunch of Hare Krishnas
'Til I let 'em go like old grudges
The writing's on the wall until I come through and smudge it
I'm way out of your budget, are you not entertained?
Am I not what I claim? It's like a shock to your brain
The game needs me, you are takin' a L
No smackin' Beasley, see me skatin' through Hell like it was easy
Fire all behind me, no rapper can out-rhyme me
Here's a tip, never fall in love with nothin' tiny
It could be gone in a minute, I'm at the line of scrimmage
And the watch still tells time with no diamonds in it
Don't let 'em fool you while I school you, it behooves you
Remain still until you hear somethin' that moves you
A few screws loose, but I'm maintainin'
A couple shots missed, but I'm still aimin'
Who you blamin' for this lack of creativity?
But actually, these fakes can't rattle me
They stand behind the fence, packed in like cattle be
Well me and the Snowgoons came to save you like the cavalry
I'm sick with it, there's no cure or remedies, facts
I keep it a hundred like centipedes, perhaps
You was unaware I was unafraid
They underhanded, that's why I got underpaid
Now understand even though they trash
They still gettin' cash, even a garbage can
Uh, a broken clock is right twice a day
That doesn't mean I'm gonna hang it on my wall
I stand tall in the eye of the storm and
You keep comin' up short, I ain't takin' no Gary Coleman's
I'm rollin' like the sixties until there's no Piru in my veins
My metaphors are insane
I came, I saw, I conquered
Fuck Watchin' the Throne, Caesar is home
T'Challa make the world follow
Nine shots show you the power of a dollar
Either swallow your Prada or swallow blood
There's no tomorrow, just yesterday
Make you say yes today, but don't put your vest away
Headshot like a fat chick profile pic
Y'all know I'm sick like a dick with bumps all over it
You pussies shouldn't fuck with this, it's not a good look
Like a Hell Rell close up, sub-zero, I leave 'em froze up
Back on the ground ten toes up
I make 'em hold up like bank robberies whenever I release
I do my own thing, I am king
Credits
Writer(s): Andrew Smith, Mark Stuart Ralph, Oliver Alexander Thornton, Michael Thomas Goldsworthy, Resul Emre Turkmen
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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