The Deejay

Ugh it's mr top shotta
I make her box hotta
You talk a whole lotta
I got the soul proper
I drop bars then rock bars
In my region
You pop shots
I don't stop I'm not bleeding
Ugh it's mr execute I'm always doing something
You rats run around In circles and ya proving nothing
Learned or gained I burn ya frame
I'm like 50 cent's thoughts on some murder game
Peep the poetry and metaphors
C4 to heavens doors like I'm coming here for sure
Gimme gimme gimme more
No Britney the spitz be
Out of this world
Come and get me
It's thee
Critically acclaimed
And fans know the name
If they sitting in a drop or riding on the train
Insane like 100 proof grain
Is coursing thru his veins
Hear the beat feel my pain

They say they wanna win
But they ain't Puttin in
Squeaky gear get the oil
For your rusty ends
Gotta give the dj's something they can spin
Oh no I done done it again

It's mr crack bars
Got what they lack heart
The beats a burglar I go sic
Attack Dog
I'm from the backyard
I'm from the front stoop
And if you act hard
You in some deep poop
I got some deep roots
I'm taking jeep routes
I mean routes check him out
On some beat loops
I think I'm Sidney P
I think I'm Langston Hughes
It sound cool but don't be lacing up a gangsters shoes
He a poet but he all prose
If it's dope you can shoot or take it all nose
Flow from the fruit and it's all dro
My homies don't tell but it all show
Rise steady then fall slow
Eyes heavy on the prize so
I keep it moving like mechanics do
The games a sucker and I'm doing what I has ta do
Take advantage too