Issue No 121 Boondock Lyrics

Move on it, boys, I've got dough
You snack junkie, this rap game is not yours.
Potholes all in my shows, wanna get tango
Trying to run it, like if you got it you'd get strangled.
Hustle, what's that smell like colored mango?
The way that I was killing the bootleg got hangover
Only who been this are top dollar and high rollers
I'm rolling blessings at the section label for non-smokers.
All of this, no Twitter, but you a non-smoker.
To tie a whole, punish a bitch when I'm sober.
Quick, troops hauling ass to get gas.
My whole life I was anxious to smoke grass
My brain gone, brain cells got killed,
Aw, shorty guilty. Gay brain, well, I kill thought.
I tried to get her to suck it with heels off.
A true feast, sucking it while it's still soft.
Holocaust, the corny rappers get killed out.
You got a chance but damn, another deal lost.
You got no love for K,
Gotta maintain balance,
How you expect to maintain with no talent?
How you expect to have baths with no profit?
Change your pants and your hands and leave your pockets.
Spit nothing but fire, I've got a sack flow,
What do you need? Are you a new face? Then hit the door!
Couple of pills, you need them? Then let me know so!
She's your friend? You got it? Then let me hold some!
Want to know something? You're lame in my eyes!
No game, like pop flies, can't hang with my guys.
You bangers say ok? Maintain the lies,
You about a realist two ball golfer.
It's off in a driveby. To speak the truth, refusing to pay dues, forget it! You're putting in on your crib.