Pussy for lunch Pop all the balloons and spit in the punch Yeah, kush in the blunts
I ride through your block, see a foot in the trunk I don´t know why they keep playing They better re-plan I´m giving ´em the blues, Bobby Blue Bland Together we stand, and fall on y´all Balling with my Bloods, call it b-ball These dames ain´t shit, Young Money is I got Mars bars, 3 Musketeers Come through, coupe same color as veneers And you know I´m riding with the toast, cheers Now I´m back on my grizz And y´all´s a bunch a squares like a mothafuckin´ grid Shit, fuck with me and get hid I finger-fuck the Nina, make that bitch have kids Just do it? My nigga, I just did Ain´t a motherfucker deeper than me, bitch, dig
You dig? This here is big biz And I scream fuck it to whoever it is
I am the Rhyming Oasis I got a cup of your time, I won´t waste it I got my foot on the line, I´m not racing I thank God that I am not basic (I am not basic, I am not a human being)
Rockstar baby Now come to my suite and get lockjaw baby Rich nigga looking at the cops all crazy That´s that mob shit, nigga, Martin Scorsese Heater close range, ´cause people are strange But I bet that AK-47 keep you ordained You can´t see Weezy nor Wayne I´m in the far lane I´m running this shit - Hundred yard gain
Swag on infinity I´m killing ´em See the white flag from the enemy Shoot you in the head and leave your dash full of memories Father forgive me for my brash delivery I would try you, I wouldn´t lie dude I must be sticky ´cause them bitches got their eyes glued Young Money, baby, we the shit, like fly food Y´all can´t see us, like the bride´s shoes I stand tall like I´m motherfucking 9´2" I scream mother-fuck you and whoever designed you And if you think you hot, then obviously you were lied to And we don´t die, we multiply, and then we come divide you
I am the Rhyming Oasis I got a cup of your time, I won´t waste it I got my foot on the line, I´m not racing I thank God that I am not basic (I am not basic, I am not a human being)
Reporting from another world Magazine full of bullets, you can be my cover girl Bless got the weed rolling thicker than a Southern girl Strong-arm rap like a nigga did a hundred curls Rockstar biatch, check out how we rock And if this ain´t hip hop, it must be knee hop I´m higher than a tree top She lick my lollipop I still get my candy from your girlfriend´s sweet shop
Spitting that heat rock I´m smooth, not Pete Rock And my, and my money on etcetera... three dots Still get a stomach ache every time I see cops You better run motherfucker, ´cause we not You better run ´til your feet stop You ain´t even a fucking alphabet in my tea pot Colder than a ski shop Holding on to the top And even if I let go, I still won´t d-rop
I am the Rhyming Oasis I got a cup of your time, I won´t waste it I got my foot on the line, I´m not racing I thank God that I am not basic (I am not basic, I am not a human being)