little bustas ain't no dolla makas
think they got what it takes to be me
i shoot up cat piss cuz it makes me feel good
i just got a new pad and a patio, in the same hood
i build sheds in my backyard, cuz i got nothin' better to do
i use those sheds to grow a tobacco operation, it's huge
i use that tobacco to make my own unfiltered death smokes
i sell those death smokes on the corner to make a quick profit yo
i take some of that profits and buy some dank ass dro
smoke a phat bowl of that dro right to my face 'n dome
roll the other profits on down the street in my brand new cadallic
when i see this busta on my corner
i stop and i'm like "♥♥♥♥♥, what the ♥♥♥♥ are you doin' on my corner in my street?"
and he's all like "yo man i got these bomb ass smokes, you wanna try some drags?"
i'm like, "♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ you think you can push that ♥♥♥♥ on my streets without cutting me in or me knowin'?"
who the ♥♥♥♥ do you think you are you busta ass ♥♥♥♥♥?
and he's all like "hey man eat a ♥♥♥♥, i'm just tryin' to-"
man i didn't even let that ♥♥♥♥♥ finish
i just started feedin' left hooks and rights
got him on the ground and kicked him 'til he was like
"okay okay okay man i'm sorry, i'll leave man, jeez"
damn straight you little ♥♥♥♥♥
as he got up he asks "you really think you're king?"
i sharply laughed,
"king? why be a king, when I can be a god..."
then i threw him a pack of death smokes and left
a little ♥♥♥♥♥ like that ain't worth my time
or my tech-9, i keep that ♥♥♥♥ under my bed
in the middle drawer next to my gi joes
the point is you can't trump me
i am the lyrical prodigy
the new master race
all hail to my new regime
smoke trees