Credits
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Wilbert Robinson
Songwriter
Lyrics
Im from lancaster boy
Small town its in pa
Plus the flow is just dope
The breeze on the freeway
Could say what you want
Who care what a flea say
Man for peteness sake
Got bombs to make the earth quake
Oughta give it my all
Got nothing to loose
Think i need some toilet tissue
Way im shitting on dudes
Whole other breed of a rapper
The thrones what im after
So taking more shots then when a camera snapping
Im a g in this game
Get to running this rap shit
Hating on the kid
The only thing they run is their fat lips
I dont really care
If you think that you hard
The pump will lift this prick up
Just like a blow up doll you dig
Cracking his melon
Its splitting like kiwi
And get to pointing my finger
It light up like et
You cant see me
Plus the boy on a paper chase
Long as the paper straight
Aint taking cuts like a paper graze
This my year
Them rappers tell them to run for it
Dont mean no disrespect
I do it bigger than pun draws
Your homie want to pop off
And might just bang at his grill
Calm and collective
Like we handling pills yeah
You getting paper
Off of hustling what
World now he holding on to weight
You think he tussling trucks
Listen up and know im trump like
Better get it crystal clear
The kid dope
And you could get it at a cut price
You dummies
Now im smelling like a bag of money
Fat tummy
Still in the hood
And just bagged a hunny
Did it on my own
Built it cause im that hungry
Three thousand on promo
Spent it off of tax money
Im from lancaster boy
Small town its in pa
Plus the flow is just dope
The breeze on the freeway
Could say what you want
Who care what a flea say
Man for peteness sake
Got bombs to make the earth quake
You get to it man
We heading to the top
Long time now taking my shot
They hating cause theyre not
The money let it pile on
If it aint about that bread
Then guess you talking to the dial tone
Haters man you lame
Been getting it man
The flow hard
Your shit pg like you tisdale
Thats that chick off Disney
You little sissies
You can call the dj
Spin them round until these pricks dizzy
As for your chick
Yeah im happy to steal
Slip her some e
If i want to fuck
Put her back on the pill for real
Im the one on the block you want to look for
Without me the strip cold
Thats why they throwing they coats on
You snakes get the look of shame
Too many snakes in the grass
Cutting them off
Leave them tilted like a crooked fade
Either way you put it
Hard shit got tookie killed
This a heavy weight fight
Get knocked out like you Holyfield
About bread you touch mine
And ill bury you
And have you seeing doubles
Like you looking in two mirrors
Ride hard deep in a four door
That verse weak why spit those
Im blowing like c fours yeah man
And i got a sick team
Getting you hit with the beam
Put on lean
Upper frame turning Swiss cheese
And never broke
Steady stacking that bread
Got time in like chicks with plats in their head
You dead man
And im staying with my pants sagging
All in you talking dumb
Get you layed out
Like them fresh sheets on a damn mattress
Its my reign those rap bars
They just mediocre
Shit is over
You old news like you sammy sosa
Try me the thing will kill you like cancer
Never been pampered
Im the shit nigga no pampers
You getting cut
Like food stuffed in a blender
More highlights than what you seeing on sports center nigga
Im from lancaster boy
Small town its in pa
Plus the flow is just dope
The breeze on the freeway
Could say what you want
Who care what a flea say
Man for peteness sake
Got bombs to make the earth quake
You get to it man
We heading to the top
Long time now taking my shot
They hating cause theyre not
The money let it pile on
If it aint about that bread
Then guess you talking to the dial tone
Writer(s): Wilbert Robinson
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