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westwood crib session freestyle - fashawn lyrics

[verse 1]
i thought i had a bad b*tch, til’ i got a badder one
used to rock the icepick way before i had a gun
tell i never gave a f*ck bout how low my khakis, huh
used to smoke a bunch a dough, feel like i got half a lung
left inside my chestbox, residue from yellow and red tops
crack vowels to next block i’m el chap, the one the feds watch
photographer, givin’ headshots from planet bedrock, get your bed rocked
for f*ckin’ with my pesos
general, don’t do nothin’ ‘less i say so
criminal salute me, you a gangsta then shoot me
hopе you got a uzi, you ain’t kamikaze, you kristy yamaguchi
you p*ssy, i’m a don you’s a doormat
the sh*t you do i don’t condone nor еndorse that, yeah
i lay you out like a floormat
right in front of your wh0re like this is war, black
ayo and that’s what it is
hit the track like a baseball bat to your ribs
n*gga, f good n*gga, west good, uh, shoutout to my n*gga tim westwood, you b*tch
you know what it is
i be flowin’ for my n*ggas who be holdin’ biz

[interlude]
down for sure, got rounds to blow
from the town that’s called fresno
professional, you know?
you know? you know?
no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
check it out, shoutout to my n*gga cole, it’s a cole world, get your blankets
[verse 2]
before you seen it with f, you probably seen it on the the cover of elle
h*ll, bag a model b*tch, i might as well
i’m more west coast than chanel
what’s under that chanel coat is gettin’ unveiled
uh, she gave me throat then she bailed
call this dope love boat how it sails
uh, watch me float off the smoke i inhale
to a roach from an l
a concrete road so i pedal
narcotics to n*ggas in the ghetto
smoke cronic up out a cigarillo
uh, h*llo, my life sweet as a bottle of amaretto
warrior in my armor palmin’ my metal
i’m a fat stack getter from a backpack n*gga
to hoodrats with me i’m a black jack tripper
back bender, crack shooter, rack spender
santiago been had mula, i got it
dirty or clean either way i was servin’ a fiend
or servin’ the fans, supply and demand
holdin’ this microphone as if it was a nine in my hand
i’m trustworthy, mine won’t jam, little n*gga
your goes ‘tu’ and mine goes ‘blam’
i might do it live on camp
santiago, the desperado
you f*ck around and catch a hollow
you don’t know? well sh*t, i do, i know
to take these motherf*ckers to a whole other level
santiago, the rebel in the house, in your mouth
i will put my d*ck then i stuff it in your spouse
church, that’s where i take ’em
i eat stake, i don’t eat bacon
i am not a muslim and i am not a christian
i’m just a n*gga who’s hittin my sh*t for all my nig*nig*nigs*nigs*nigs*nigs
yo microphone check, mic*microphone ckecker
microphone check, mic*microphone ckecker
microphone check, mic*microphone ckecker
uh, yeah, yo
i’m a tycoon like 40, oe in my veins
i’m good as cuba gooding, cuban link on my chain
a pupil is dialated, the pupils is dialated
affiliated with hustlers, one of us made it
i’m somethin’ amazin
put the pieces together like a mosaic or puzzle i’m complicated
i bubble out the state out the country
flex my mind and my muscle
they hate to confront me mothef*cker uh
i guess you can call me the pizza man
i can get you a piece of ass or a piece of tan
on delivery uh, my delivery is literally wizardry
listen attentively uh, sinister similes and murderous metaphors
a spliff and some hennessy is somethin’ you can’t afford
coolin’ givin d*ck to a puma
then i’m back on my grizzly on a mission for mula
it’s the ruler, word to the mueller
take a day off like, the n*gga, was it ferris bueller?
no days off n*gga

- fashawn lyrics

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