[Kleptomaniac]
Lyrical wizardry dances on MC's like Murray on SC's
Never flaunt, now motherfuckers come test me
Burnin' everybody hotter than torches at Jamaican parties
Far from angels, niggas can't see me like Charlie
Style weak? Hardly!
Don't let the wacked pursue you like Marley
JM clique moves in packs like whities on Harleys
Niggas get injured, fucked do' in 40 fingers
Got bitches by bike-by, bussin' Glocks off a' ninjas
Klep don't give three shits to flip scripts
Dismiss bullets from clips, leave niggas rollin' up skateboards
Wit nuttin' under they hips, bitch, so if you test me
Shit gets messy, bustin' .38 speci
Outta paper bags like Joe Pesci
Yo, you know the tune
Make sure bitches don't eat when it's time to shit out them coke balloons
Bocked up the ninja when it got shady, now I got grown ladies
Bustin' .380's outta E Class Mercedes
(Hurry the fuck up bitchm, get on!)
(Fuck you motherfucker let me out this L)
(There they go right there, dot them niggas)
(Motherfuckers!! *gun shots*)
[Kleptomaniac]
MC's get cut like glass, cut like class
Rag tagged and crashed, airbags couldn't save dat ass
Who wanna get broke the fuck up? Tell me!
Freakin' vocabulary like Chinese in spelling bees
T-P-E-L-K held to reflect the devices
The nicest, Jesus Christ's
Junior Mafioso, niggas get torn off head to torso
Bullets evacuated out windows
From Heckler & Koch, P7M8's
Extra .380 on a string 'round my neck cos feds check the waist
No time to waste, grab the loot then escape before next break
Heads are clockin', private eyes are watchin'
Nigga caught up in the hustle
Fuck flippin' packages and tyin' up bitches' minx and rings I bubble
Trouble's what I look for in stores on expensive floors
[?]-boostin' [?] bookin Pelle's in my drawers
Armani, Gianni Versace, V2
Lost count o' all the loc sections me and mans ran thru
It ain't hard to discard cans of mace on guards
Leave them bitch ass niggas screamin' like a fuckin' retard
Lyrically I come off like ink alarms
Got styles under the wing like sweaters booked under my arms
Niggas couldn't see me with closed circuit TV
Tryin' to peep my steez, like DT's I get over like I'm fifteen
(Hey, you're not fifteen)
I'm fifteen, what?
(What do you think we are? Assholes or somethin'?)
Fuck you! Soundin' like that nigga from Night Court
Loose my cuffs I'm outta here!
[Kleptomaniac]
MC's be fake like toupes so I transplant
Implant my fist to their face makin' their skin raise
Soundwaves disrupted, they fucked kid!
Earholes, blood erupted, but that ain't nuttin'
The best is yet to come
MC's get strung like heads on drums
They don't be knowin' what I'm knowin'
Flowin' like I'm flowin'
Makin' motherfuckers take nose dives like 747 Boeings
Obnoxious, beef-squashers, face-to-face
Niggas get wet up like galoshes on Klep's place
Thru the hard time sayin' prayers committin' crimes
Sick minds don't care, rockin' parties from front to rear
Brains engulfed by ferocious thoughts, it's on!
Runnin' up on Big wit Lex wit napkins doused with chloroform
Livin' in a world where you do what you must
If preachers be robbin' niggas who the fuck can you trust?
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
