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e.3 butter on the biscuit - eric jamal lyrics

oh, timmy. timmy turner never had a burner. always knew i was a son of a gun. n*ggas talk about it, but don’t be about it as son as they see when they first want to run. now pray for n*ggas that can be who they want. they live in h*ll like the air in their lungs and back of their mind. they know that they front try to cover with the money and stunt y’all doing too much. enough is enough. n*ggas watching too much snow on the bluff gassing you up until they pull up in the unleaded, then dump about ten out the pump. hope to god i die as rich as a bum that make change everyday for the ones that give a f*ck about the pеople in slums. cause first shall be last and last shall bе one. keeping them blunt. promise you n*ggas we weeding you out. this smoke you don’t want. you know in your gut all of your music is trash i’m here to empty the dutch my n*gga what up? i can stand behind my bars, i eat a sentence for lunch. i’m not here to judge but i can tell from all your jury you n*ggas mentally cuffed look guilty as f*ck all y’all’s be pressed to be youngins we call that benjamin b*tton. let’s keep it a hundred y’all posed to be teaching us something. you n*ggas ain’t preaching to nothing this god body like a verse from the sun i’m bred different yeah came i came from the crumbs n*ggas looking like that n*gga the one yo eric jamal that n*gga the one yeah i’m the one i champ myself. think outside the box. i don’t need no belt. every punch line on the beat get felt and i can’t be beat till i beat myself i’m the reason that your favorite rapper go stealth i can make a ghostwriter go and get help anything a boss know i’m going to sell n*ggas looking at me like a n*gga make oh hold up cut that in cash i’ma show you how you triple the bag. i remember every meal was a snack and now we’re treating every meal like a stack. the way that we brag we not talking poppin no tags or coppin was shifting the bags know that i’m black and you think because that i rap should be dripping in fashion living the fastest god and bobby and jack i’m a different type of cat. never lying when i rap small letters, no cap two c’s on my back. you ain’t asked me how i been. don’t ask me why. i’m matt coach cash on the mac real n*ggas a rap, rap, rap, rap. you ain’t cried with me then don’t smile with me. y’all don’t owe you nothing. you ain’t grind with me got my pop house and get my mama. get me some for my grammy speech got my mama with me n*ggas hit my phone but my line is busy so get n*gga mind your business don’t make me live it you don’t want see me pass the limit it ain’t fun if i write your ticket listen ammunition for competition and then put the mortician superstition my palm itching me not gotta go get it contradiction in my religion cause i know that lil win gotta send it to my ambition cause i’m dripping i envision the way i’m living i can see it so vivid picasso couldn’t pay me to pitch with my eyes closed and i’m still gonna witness i’m being broke but never been ignorant made broke and turned to riches, never been timid, always been myself to the realist position and even in stayed on the mission. i’m so independent. don’t depend on pen for the written i know that i’m different the way i rap. i know that i’m gifted the feeling, the tension. they feel like i’m a take the attention they want to be mentioned. they want a million likes on the picture but don’t want a picture for a system that runs up against us. so how the f*ck do you want to be remembered, n*gga? from to the top. so my pop, i’m a pop god when i’m a big like

- eric jamal lyrics

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