I’m about to stomp ya Get on the mat, soon I’ll need a new sparring partner You’re no match for me and Breez Lot of cats out there don’t deserve to be emcees Put the mic down, money. Without misery He died instantly-just lost his soul That’s why he lost control and drove off the road For those who want to know what I would do to an enemy If you never witnessed it, it’s just Shaq playing Mini-Me Come on, dog. ![]() Enough said Severe trauma slip into your head. You’ll get slaughtered by the preproduction Not even a mastered version got you driving Faster, swerving, pried from a crashed excursion (Get him out) But tests say you died before the wreck They’re in a search for your cause of death. ![]() I’m not impressed with the restless That use measures that’s desperate to achieve excellence Sell your soul for a Lexus and a necklace, flossing You a rider? Fuck with me and be a Headless Horseman Sleeping under Hollow ground in a redwood coffin Never avenged-your next of kin accepting losses For you to think you got a chance, you must have lost your mind I should get a tattoo of a caution sign (Take that) To warn niggas of the repercussion.
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