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Kool G. Rap
Here's the motherfkin magnificent
I'll even bag innocent motherfkers
See suckers like there was ten I sent
So if you come in my way - great, I pull out the trey - eight
Kool G. Rap's your fate, and not your playmate
So all you on the floor, moaning that s**t is dead
Tell it to the motherfkin mortician
So get ready to let the led out, I'm knockin dead out
and blowin the back of your fkin head out
Cookin better than mama's dinner
So let the drama enter, I'm sendin to the trauma center
Because I'm rollin with force, tearin out the frame
like they was pictures of a b*tch that I divorced
Boss, so come on nigg*, get wild and loose
I whoop your motherfkin as* and get arrested for child abuse
Even your b*tch can get it nigg*
I shove the barrel of a nine up her behind
and pull the fkin trigger
Goin Psycho like Norman Bates, G. you better sedate
Because lately ain't able to take me
It ain't a man in the land that can stand G. Rap
Save that candy-rap, s**t for the handicapped
'll get slayed like a bunch of play pirates
fkin with me, y'alld rather fk with the AIDS virus
Cause I set em up wet em up like sprinkles
And put to sleep longer than Rip Van Winkle
The quicker the s**t, the quicker the hit, I'm peakin a fit
Leavin sicker than Liberace's d*ck
Good luck, another hood bucked
I kick you so far up your as* I get my motherfkin foot stuck
See I manage to give more than a bandage
Blue Cross and Blue Shield, couldn't cover the motherfkin damage
Cause I'm bold and bigger, puttin manholes in
and holdin triggers up, to them golddiggers
So if you all over my d*ck just like a rubber
My rap is so fat, I make ? and ? ? blubber
You better duck, I'm like a volcano when I erupt
you b*tch-ass rappers'll get fked
And you'll be one hoe, like Marilyn Monroe
left on death row, because I let the gun go
bang blow your motherfkin brains out
But you need more than detergent to get that motherfkin stain out
Cause I serve more crabs than Red Lobster's
When I pop shots, I leave lotsa dead mobsters
Put down the microphone whether unknown or famous
You're out of luck and I don't give a fcK what your name is
Boy you better split, cause I'ma house s**t
My d*ck'll be rich if you
wants to put your money where your mouth is
Gassed up as* nigg*, come set it
Cause when I pick up the gun, that be the end of the unleaded
Now you could be a gold or a platinum artist
But deep down, you fkin silly clowns know who's the hardest
I watered down with the quarter pound
cause my slaughter sound can be caught around
and found the slaughter town
For the clowns got eighty rounds worth of ammo
Play it again Sam, put on my jams, fk a piano
I'm leavin lame brain dead
Aww fk it, nuff said