Paroles It's Over (Freestyle) de Royce da 5'9"

Royce da 5'9
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  • Artiste: Royce da 5'9"4081
  • Chanson: It's Over (Freestyle)
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Textes et Paroles de It's Over (Freestyle)

[Royce Da 5'9"]
They say I'm the best in here
Picture your wife fuckin your twin, I'm like him
May the best man win, so later for you bums
A ways back I made a pact to stay sharp enough to sharpen a razor on my tongue
I'm sick with this, you sick like a panty sniffer
And you just wanna see her pee, like a dick blister
Y'all remind me of Fantasia brother, y'all be whylin
On TV every day I turn on y'all and y'all be cryin
I'm SURGICAL with this motherfuckin pen
The sickest nigga spittin 'til the end [echoes]

I don't really have to go against actors
I'm the last lyrical W.T.F.O.M.G. factor
so back off 'fore I blow your kneecap off
I'ma eat this beat like a bee eatin vegan, industry's where the beef is
In the car goin beep-beep while I roll over the drums and just straight (blam blam)
'Bout to build me a time machine and, get in it, and go back I'm done
Find Frank Nitti and Al Capone like, "Can y'all autograph my gun?"
Haha, I ain't tryin that hard right now, I'm just havin fun
Tell the whole world I just had a son, first name Earth, last name None
You live on that and your cash ain't come and you don't spit that shit ass ain't gone
Raised by a gangsta, come in the house with your ass whipped and you get an ass whoop-un
What a nigga know about the water in the shower gettin cold cause the bathroom faucet is on
The reason why I grabbed you, stabbed you, out-rap you and I ain't feelin like tossin a crumb
Heat a nigga house with the oven, like I like thuggin, what I probably just spit on my mother
Had to heat up the house with the oven, had to spend the night with my cousin
Guess I'll be poppin lots of shit, you can't do nothin 'bout it bitch
So get the heads up or be my Rock'em Sock'em opposite
I'm like a stock of bond, that could drop a bomb
Ridin slow with the slidin do' on the side
open on that minivan intended for no soccer mom
Lighters up high, I'm your fire supply
Writer with mad skills, I'm ill so hire your guy
Nobody's harder, he don't give a FUCK what he slaughters
He will drag your slutty daughter through the muddy waters
This beat is bait, get it out of me
I can shit it out me it's ate, I think I owe Drake an apology

Tweet about that you little fuckin fruit

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