[Verse One]
Let's begin: Miss Grae
Post-traumatic war sympton sufferer
The player hand bluffer, the shifty-eyed mother
Deep city strut walker, trucker hat hater
Knuckle lover, peddle rap pusher
Made veteran face-smusher
Rip out your pacemaker
Knock your brain data
With block fists 'til it spits out of your sockets
So unlogical, the prodigal daughter returns
With them horror comic comedy terms (You know you love it)
Squirm in your seats, let the bass burn you to pieces
Frown 'til your face keeps all those permanent creases
Learned leash techniques so I keeps them all close
Then I burn all the straps slack and watch you toast
Drop on ya
Now your kin's wildin' like Ritchie Valen's mama drama
Picture me smiling, man it's all in the words
I'm just playing, please don't take this serious
I'm just saying, come on
[Verse Two]
Featherweight with a heavy tongue, eighty pounds
And it's fitted with napalm grenades with the pins out
I spit a round of ammo and spin like candles
Dig holes manually or a hop-to your family
You can't manage me, I'm Santana's song
Black Magic Woman, half manic, half timebomb
Neurotic addict blown, that alone explains that I'm wrong
I stay gone like missing kids in a basement with chains on
Face it, I'm always gonna lace it up well
Receive hate mail and pray tell, why your face swelled
I don a cape with a "JG" on it, the sleeves red
Three lead pieces that'll pop out of the sleeve net
(Best believe that) I mean what I say cos these letters spray
With a mean pimp lean, Jean, I'm a demon
"I know, she's so dreamy, look at her gleaming!"
Nigga I shine with no polish on even, it's just raw (See?)
[Verse Three]
Despicable thoughts much bigger than yours
I think in broad-terms, long-term winnings of course
I figure long earnings:
Yachts and Porsches, houses, porches, backyards, pools for this
Y'all think that I don't endorse it?
That I wanna stay broke drinking water out the faucet?
Nope, that's where you're wrong
I just planned it different
Damn gifted
I'm a nightmare, flipping the standards
Ripping candid
Tipping the balance, one hand gripping the hammer
And dripping rancid tones, you're just a band of clones
I strip you down 'til you're living in abandoned homes
Plan long, yours short like bandana tops
My plan stops when my kids' kids' nanna drops
Then my grandkids find your family
God damn thee
I'll quit when I sell y'all candy
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