I loaded tha four-fifth’s clip with explosive-tips / got out tha whip recitin’ holy passages from Ecclesiasticus / double-vision still leary, still spliffed, still severely bent off a gallon of gin / huntin’ for tha punk rock victim who always tryin’ to talk wisdom / it’s time for tha God to perform an exorcism / catch him slippin’, 1 inflicted in his noggin/ let all his knowledge fall up out his faucet / show up to his funeral ‘n’ piss on his coffin / all’re cryin’ here, they shoulda seen me laugh it up when I shot him / jet back to tha whip where tha beat’s knockin’ some Mobb shit, show up at tha weed spot ‘n’ an impromptu cipher’s started / I scan mic devices ‘n’ it remains starvin’ / these bars rush through bulletproof parkas / I am a fuckin’ artist but I’ll fuckin’ hurt you / don’t stay out past tha court injuncted curfew…
Any errors in Twisted's lyrics are solely that of typist & not in any way reflective of Twist's original handwritten work. Twist reviews typewritten work sent him by snail mail, any needed corrections are made & returned via snail mail from Twist who is in belly of beast.
Listen to me spit over phone from prison, serving 12 yrs for robbery
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