something cookin

you know you got me up in yo head, presidential diction all up in yo mental banks, right from the beginning penetrate them with the mental games. little bit crazy on this mutha fucka just the way i let it hang. get up in that beat and nock it loose just how i do it mane. on them tracks like every day, spitting it up like yesterday, wasn't so far away, but i got a whole bunch of shit to say. put them phonie bitches in the grave, No Land yo final resting place. until another day. and another day. You know you love this murda Muzik, the type shit that get the blunt lit, party hitting, nother track to keep em dipping, like the way we keep it kicking, chef boy yar Grimm up in the kitchen. yeah there's always something cooking bitches. I hook it up with that good shit, fully lifted in one hit, suspended from the atmosphere you even dare to take a second rip. dont even try that shit. every one is potent certified to be pure, couldn't get a better cut unless im cooking it in your ear. listen here. its the dope shit, like Martin Lawrence got dosed wit. one taste got on it and ,no shit, 2nd one you hooked and hopeless. Yo im all up in yo rewind, hit em wit that good Kind. Chronic verses got em thirst swimming in the slushee ice. searching fridge for munchies trying funky now you know you high. take em for a ride, yeah we rolling till the buck stops. ill make them speakers knock. dopest in the mutha fuckin globe and ima speak it loud. rover known to roam across the map but im in spokane now , No Land roll across the entire fuckin nation and always stay down