UP CLOSE..
I don’t bang keys—I bang jaws (“FAH!”) Ain’t no safety when I break laws Too many actors with fake bras I’m hands-on like paint jobs (*yelling vocals*) You hard around twelve, but soft one deep Try that flex and get rocked off beat Ain’t no gun tuck—I keep my reach(jab size'em up) And these hands speak better than tweets (“Tweet that.”) They all want da 50 round drum gunplay, (pow)—none wanna run that fade Ain't no bitch in me bruh—I'm TEXAS Made. These hands don't jam neither, they just ready to play with a face They coming from da shoulders at amazing pace. (QUICK!!) (“Catch up!”) These hands certified—HAM University grad, (Hard As a Muthafucka), boy, I majored in jabs. Got a degree in beat-yo-ass, no cap (ILL DO IT on stage!!) With a minor in Pop Shots,—and a certificate in rage. I don’t flash da blower—I flash back to the block (PATE STREET) Where we learned how to box before loading bullets in Glocks Y’all slide for clout—I step for respect You scared of a fade? Then stay on the net. Shooters get no respect from me (that boy pussycat and he knows it) Saying shit like "my shit got a dick" or "I'm gone blow it" (sus!?!) (Yeah that shit be sounding a lil alphabet gang for real... Yeah) I don’t bang keys—I bang jaws Ain’t no safety when I break laws Too many actors with fake bras I’m hands-on like paint jobs You hard around twelve, but soft one deep (“Where they at now?”) Try that flex and get rocked off beat Ain’t no gun tuck—I keep my reach And these hands speak better than tweets Ayy look—if a look made you shoot, you was never that raw You just mad your emotions got sawed off Lil heartbreak got you clappin' at a stranger Cuz you ain’t man enough to handle your anger They like, “Bro snapped”—nah, he was soft from the jump Ain’t built to lose love, so he reach for the pump A real one feel pain, then go walk it off You feel pain, and now somebody mama lost? I done bled, I done healed, I done swallowed pride But I ain’t never picked a coffin off a wounded vibe Your daddy failed, your mama ain’t teach Cuz you thirty with a Draco, afraid of a speech I throw hands ‘cause I know I can grow You throw rounds ‘cause you weak and hollow It ain’t brave to pull—that’s a coward’s twitch And feelings don’t kill... but you a emotional bitch (“Say that.”) If your first move is a weapon... you already lost. Guns ain’t badges. Real ones take hits, and still walk tall. Y’all just tryna go viral behind triggers. Ain’t no crown in being scared of your own damn reflection. Learn some discipline. Learn how to squabble. And maybe—just maybe—your sons won’t end up soft. I don’t bang keys—I bang jaws Ain’t no safety when I break laws Too many actors with fake bras I’m hands-on like paint jobs You hard around twelve, but soft one deep Try that flex and get rocked off beat Ain’t no gun tuck—I keep my reach And these hands speak better than tweets (“Every time.”)
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I don’t bang keys—I bang jaws (“FAH!”) Ain’t no safety when I break laws Too many actors with fake bras I’m hands-on like paint jobs (*yelling vocals*) You hard around twelve, but soft one deep Try that flex and get rocked off beat Ain’t no gun tuck—I keep my reach(jab size'em up) And these hands speak better than tweets (“Tweet that.”) They all want da 50 round drum gunplay, (pow)—none wanna run that fade Ain't no bitch in me bruh—I'm TEXAS Made. These hands don't jam neither, they just ready to play with a face They coming from da shoulders at amazing pace. (QUICK!!) (“Catch up!”) These hands certified—HAM University grad, (Hard As a Muthafucka), boy, I majored in jabs. Got a degree in beat-yo-ass, no cap (ILL DO IT on stage!!) With a minor in Pop Shots,—and a certificate in rage. I don’t flash da blower—I flash back to the block (PATE STREET) Where we learned how to box before loading bullets in Glocks Y’all slide for clout—I step for respect You scared of a fade? Then stay on the net. Shooters get no respect from me (that boy pussycat and he knows it) Saying shit like "my shit got a dick" or "I'm gone blow it" (sus!?!) (Yeah that shit be sounding a lil alphabet gang for real... Yeah) I don’t bang keys—I bang jaws Ain’t no safety when I break laws Too many actors with fake bras I’m hands-on like paint jobs You hard around twelve, but soft one deep (“Where they at now?”) Try that flex and get rocked off beat Ain’t no gun tuck—I keep my reach And these hands speak better than tweets Ayy look—if a look made you shoot, you was never that raw You just mad your emotions got sawed off Lil heartbreak got you clappin' at a stranger Cuz you ain’t man enough to handle your anger They like, “Bro snapped”—nah, he was soft from the jump Ain’t built to lose love, so he reach for the pump A real one feel pain, then go walk it off You feel pain, and now somebody mama lost? I done bled, I done healed, I done swallowed pride But I ain’t never picked a coffin off a wounded vibe Your daddy failed, your mama ain’t teach Cuz you thirty with a Draco, afraid of a speech I throw hands ‘cause I know I can grow You throw rounds ‘cause you weak and hollow It ain’t brave to pull—that’s a coward’s twitch And feelings don’t kill... but you a emotional bitch (“Say that.”) If your first move is a weapon... you already lost. Guns ain’t badges. Real ones take hits, and still walk tall. Y’all just tryna go viral behind triggers. Ain’t no crown in being scared of your own damn reflection. Learn some discipline. Learn how to squabble. And maybe—just maybe—your sons won’t end up soft. I don’t bang keys—I bang jaws Ain’t no safety when I break laws Too many actors with fake bras I’m hands-on like paint jobs You hard around twelve, but soft one deep Try that flex and get rocked off beat Ain’t no gun tuck—I keep my reach And these hands speak better than tweets (“Every time.”)
Bars: Perfect 💯 Delivery: Perfect 💯 Impression: Perfect 💯
Bars: Perfect 💯 Delivery: Perfect 💯 Impression: Perfect 💯