World Series E

Yeah. Kells. Who the fuck want it with him? We ball like Indians at the World Series, Eighth inning. I'm God, roll up in the Coke Kidney. I hit the pussy like a bomb, fuck Show business. We in the jungle with the gorillas. We in the streets with the four-wheelers. Don't speak, I am no witness. You got beef? Put an end to your talking Like a long sentence. Ah, period. Uh, motherfucker, I'm serious. Who your favorite rapper? I'm curious. He ain't living out them words. He use machine guns, verse on the track 'cause His ass got murdered. Uh, I'm talking in the third. I'm talking to a Steeler and he ain't from The 'Burgh. You talking to a Cleveland motherfucker In the first, so you better not get on My nerves. Biatch, I need Erdo. Keep me moving like Thursto. Keep me seeing this purpo. Keep it banging like Kirko. Work something, twerk something. Bitch fuck me, now she worth something. Gas tank on E, it ain't worth nothing. Tryna stunt on me? The worst coming. Okay. Motherfucker's gonna need some plumbing. I am the shit and I feel like eating Something. Feed on my stomach, give me a rapper, Make it a hundred. Fuck it, give him the Hubble Telescope, they couldn't see the youngin. No. Fuck it, let him get a little something. Bring him to the block, do a little stunting. That ain't nothing. Everywhere I go, putting on, I Ain't bluffing. Everywhere I go, putting on, bitch, I run it. Kells. This song got a motherfucker feeling like Pac, Though. Feeling like Pac, though, like. Picture me rolling. Picture me rolling. Picture Picture me rolling. This song got a Motherfucker feeling like Pac, though. Feeling like Pac, though, like. Picture me rolling. Picture me rolling. Picture me rolling. Picture me rolling. Picture me rich. Picture everybody with a picture of Me hanging on the wall like Prince. Picture your favorite R&B singer looking at a Picture on a phone of my big old dick. Picture me living like Biggie, the real Frank White. I'm the king of my city. Picture all this shit starting as a dream. Staring at a picture of Martin Luther King, bitch, That's my reaction. Tryna make it happen from Rapping. Trying to avoid me a casket. Half of my kinfolk caught up in traffic from Trapping. My whole squad'll turn to a fraction. 'Cause Tony Montana's right up the block from us, Dog. It's hard not to get caught up in It at all. Hard not to ball, sales for Yayo, then jailed someone goes off the Lord. Please, God, tell me that ain't true. Tell me that name on that paperwork ain't you. If you ain't snitching, then why is you home? Stupid decision, bitch, better get gone. Three in the morn', I can't get rest, so I turn over, pick up that.38 Special. You busting my door, then I'll bust at your Neck, ho. Twenty-five spinning on death row. This song got a motherfucker feeling like Pac, Though. Feeling like Pac, though, like. Picture me rolling. Picture rolling. Picture me rolling. Rolling. Picture me rolling. Song got a motherfucker feeling like Pac, though. Feeling like Pac, though, like. Picture me rolling. Picture Picture me rolling. Picture me rolling.