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letra de batcave (video version) - illfightyou

[verse 1: evergreenone]
i’m at the telly gettin’ f-cked up
so many drugs on the table. what’s what?
talk sh-t, you get lumped up
hollow slugs, anger bottled up, swallow nuts, b-tch
labels place bids, they ain’t getting’ sh-t
look
i’m game seven, play to win
i’m chuckin’ molotovs at haters from a f-ckin’ van, gettin’ chopped
sellin’ c0ke to cops, show don’t stop, roll a f-ckin’ blunt
syrup in that soda pop, dish in yellow rocks
chevy drop top, bad b-tch, top notch
parkin’ lot, pimpin’ flippin’ birds while we hot box
i cut the locks off, walkin’ up in that trap house
dunkin’ up on these f-ggots like i’m stackhouse
p-ssies play the background, all we do is lash out
slash tires, light fires, barbed wire tied around your f-ckin’ wrist
parents never got married, i’m drinkin’ bl–dy mary’s
givin’ two sh-ts about what you’re wearin’ you f-ckin’ b-tch
sagged jeans, ashed joints on a fader magazine
i’m backstage getting faded steady stackin’ cheese
coldhearted kings, bling bling livin’ on my neck
couple zero’s on these checks, we the realest left
bricks on deck, runnin’ with hungry villains
i don’t catch no feelings, bet i keep it trilla when i ride a beat
crack the 4-0, hit the strip in a lolo
with your grandma in chokeholds, stuffin’ g’s in my levi jeans
tone it down? f-ck that. get it tatted on my face
keep a pistol on my waist, heavy chain on me
dirty money rollin’ v.i.p., grew up bumpin’ b.i.g
talk is cheap. what the f-ck you sayin’, homie?

[verse 2: ugly frank]
body count a hunnid, pierce county cutter, hit the block and smother
break the chicken, hit the strip, and shove a b-tch, i got yo’ number
numbers never falsified. nothin’, i
like the window of that double decker benz end up it make your spine all nimble, concrete
three of my n-ggas huddle yo’ lobby
hand to the lord, handle my bi’ness, hand on the shotty
spanish st-tched in supranos who pan a gram in designer
fleece him for all his paper and vanish up in a alley
n-ggas murderous, toe taggin’, pistol packin’
bang the clique. you widdit? guzzle 40’s, puffin’ crystal dragons
dangerous as sh-t, you livin’ risky, act nervous when flashin’
‘round this many n-ggas, crazy villains, ain’t no swift -ss-ssins
swear my n-ggas glushin’, feet on recliner, miniature mansion
palestinian b-tches distribute cane to the hamptons
faded wavin’ a hammer, blew angel dust in my napkin
nuzzled up until that sl-t nasal p-sses. i swear to god
these n-ggas front street. rush up in out the pot
stick to the deal, homie or the f-ck is you braggin’ ‘bout?
slack a camino, calico heat travel through the house
and you peeps spiral through and route with the sheet of yo’ caddy top
tell a ho, “who want it? who f-ckin’ want it?” y’all n-ggas hoes
i got thirty moraless soldiers to turn your dome to a doughnut
take it up off yo’ shoulders just over on to the corner light
as long as i’m ridin’ i keep it golden eye
ugly

- illfightyou

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