CRUNK TIME E

Cooperative garage bitch ass. This motherfucking trash. This rap shit fucking stupid. I'm out. Big Bonez the track boy. Crying out for better with a splash of Actavis. Why you sipping so much? 'Cause I'm Chris Travis, bitch. Can't leave your own city, what the fuck that Tell on you, bitch? Mouth game tight, but that pussy real loose. Hard ball in the South, bitch, I'm straight out of Memphis. Sippin' codeine, bitch, don't try to tell me 'bout My kidneys. Leather seats, leather head with those Rims the Bentley. Tryna get you a line that's gon' cost your Ass fifty. Bitch, I'm good, but you niggas ain't In your own city. Forty-year-old virgin, ain't nobody fucking with me. Cutthroat rich as fuck, bitch, I'm never not high. Don't say you gon' get me, bitch, When you the dead guy. I ain't even spitting bars, but I ain't telling Lies. Chris Travis ain't smoke, You a goddamn lie. Nigga, I be on my shit and that's how I survive. I ain't 'bout to bust shit, I ain't even in my prime. Come cook that whole career with one punchline. Beat a nigga ass down in a fucking lunch Line. Killing all these lame rappers, Nothing but a punchline. Bitch, I go hard.