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bronson mania - action bronson lyrics

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[verse 1: action bronson]
ayyo hit or miss shorty wake up shorty sh-t the fish
razor sniff, leave the pocket when you see the blitz
you never know the type of pickle you in
till you wake up in a cell and nuts will tickle your chin
it’s vinny gorgeous with the sinister grin
and if it wasn’t for the drugs i’d probably be in the gym
if i’m not up in the studio, i’m up in your wife
if you had a bigger package she’d be up in your life
in 93′ i had to cop me the flights, started plottin the heist
so i cop me a knife, these sneakers cost a hundred forty duke
i’m stoppin’ your life, better yet i’ll cut your c-ck off with the choppin device
you never know it could be you up on the table
emergency rush in will pull your bladder through your navel
special pants cover that feces bag, another man rockin that chain
and the piece he had, we k!ll the cow carve it for the proper preparations
braise the leg sir the loin make the brisket cajun
rib eye prime prefer you leave the bone in, the tomahawk chop is only meant for grown men
zonin’ sequin shirts with the stone gems
i’ll never have it, duke—i’d rather let the chrome sin
equip for the rip, you f-ggot p-ssies sit where you p-ss
these queens k!llers hit the strip with the sniff, b-tch
roll up the gr-ss crazy w-lly man will stuff your -ss
with a gerbil, serve your girl a custard mask
crush the gl-ss, dip my fist and step inside the ring
inside the bing,p-ssy ran he tried to hide the thing
come through to the courts, a hundred down from any spot
dribble shoot, the penny drop just like a henny shot
you look astonished, face twisted like a twizzler
my people laughin cause they know we goin sizzler
purpose to life, prestige p-ssy plenty paper
steam risin off jacuzzi women different flavors
whips are major, sh-ts aggressive like a vicious saber
you trick the paper, tell your b-tch that i’mma hit it later
accurate palm strikes, on like disposition, john stockton
i’m scoring and i’m also dishin
magic long night pipe with no intermission
put on the dl, tommy john no more pitchin
this is queens watch words, just like persian
jissepe dishdo automatic with the conversion
you never know might be the next to meet the surgeon
split like a pig, and left you bleedin like a virgin
inhaler of smoke the fine chronic conoisseur
we bobba ghanoush the tan colored pile of raw
the humus and bread, olives from another land
and f-ck a burger, i’d rather eat the mother lamb
i’m royce gracie the magician of submission, elegance in the kitchen
my ambition ain’t to glisten, but yo, f-ck all the jewelery sh-t
provide me with a st-rdy whip, a package on the dirty b-tch
t-tty size a 36, 30 d-cks what she takin in a single sittin
silk and linin what i’m sportin when the eagles winnin
yo bet the oval, cause the corners are a little iffy
in a minute turn a macho man a little sissy
i’m never p-ssy, all the women wanna kiss the
flushin grizzly, heavy but they never diss me
cause i be in and out of p-ssy like a stream of p-ss
gleam the wrist, nah f-ck it, rather steam the bliss

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