Yo, why this dude like like K.D. Lang
My .380 rang, the fat lady sang
For fronting like he in a gang with a flag trying to bang
Bust his gun, all we see is a flag that say "bang"
Pop holes in your man bucket
That's why they cape for y'all down in Cape Cod, Nantucket
An advance hoodlum who still keep it real psychedelic
Man I'm something like a relic
Bout to grow a mustache like Tom Selleck
Felt all the way in Pelican's Bay
Get paid to say nothing in an eloquent way
You the type to knock up a slaw
Not do any time
But do pushups watching Lockup: Raw
You the type to say "bass" instead of "bass"
You the type wash your ass before your face
You the type glance at urinal stands
You the type to get up in the same revolving door as your mans
Teaching fools how to play pool
Was always gossiping with the bitches in the school
Spreading rumors like their word true
Telling girls like "Don't mess with Droog, you know he's gonna hurt you, right?"
Amping fights starting beef
Probably woke up and only use mouth wash, ain't even brush your teeth
Drop out of cyph
Always wetting up the dutch leaf
Good grief never hopped a train
You and your boy double swipe, stay hitting cats up to FaceTime and Skype
Like doggie, where's your manners?
You the type to lock eyes with another man while eating a banana
You the type wife the neighborhood smut
You the type to look in a hoe eyes when you cut
And whisper "I love you" when you bout to nut
You the type to let a bitch slip a finger in your butt
(Or two or three)
Putting cracks in the blunts
You the type wipe your ass back to front
Call a man you just met your brother
And send him gifts
You the type, y'all get the drift