Millefiore the Remix (feat. Tak & F3) [Remix]

Ay, you know you done fucked up right

I know that you thought it was over
Got blood on my hands and a chip on my shoulder
My flow supernova, pull off in a rover
When loading my ammo, I know I'm gon fold ya

Dawg

Bullets hit you and you lift off
Stay talking shit cuz you're pissed off
You chose the wrong one to shit talk
I don't play games, I'm not jigsaw

Weaker than spongebob with them blow up arms
You can catch hands, it's your right to bear arms
Luck of the Irish? you're just lucky charms
Know you gon run, cuz you can't inflict harm

Fucked up your position, had no pot to piss in
Insecure with women, faking a religion
Shut up with the dissin', hope you have some children
I'mma hit your wife then burn them in the building

You millefiore, the fake squad
You niggas can sit on a tripod
You niggas can suck down a tide pod
No chance you can handle what we got

Hop out the van, now I'm doing the dash
Trail of destruction, I bet I won't crash
Bandicoot, typhoon spin on that ass
You fuckin faker than a bitches tracks

Promise you, you scurry like a rat
Bet you niggas, never coming back
Pimp hand return of the Mack
Shock arrest, I aim for cardiac

Rabbit, hare, turtle, tortoise race
Not the time, nor is it the place
Niggas is way too slow
Just moving at that nigga pace

God body, Hoe I'm built like a God
Minamoto niggas know we the mob
And we won't stop

I was appointed, commander in chief
I beat all the odds
I go 150 when doing my dash
Hop in that foreign and skrt off real fast
Stop all that talking and up me my cash
Designer denim, it sag off my ass

God body, Hoe I'm built like a God
Minamoto niggas know we the mob
And we won't stop

I was appointed, commander in chief
I beat all the odds
I go 150 when doing my dash
Hop in that foreign and skrt off real fast
Stop all that talking and up me my cash
Designer denim, it sag off my ass
Yeah, yeah

Pull up on you with yo son house,
Or broad day while the sun out,
Nigga ain't no rules, make you run the jewels,
I'm like Killer Mike with the run downs,

But I'm black and decker with the tools joe,
Present the weapon, better use those,
Word around, that nigga F3 will make you fade-away with the free throw

That F&N like a crucifix
No rubber when I fuck your bitch
Hold that L like a hockey stick
Hold that L like a hockey stick

My heart is dark like a hockey puck
My momma know I don't give a fuck
I'm in the back of the back, bandanna'd up
You a sitting duck, nigga try your luck

Never speak on me
Back with 100 rounds in the tommy
Beat him down, bet he runs to his mommy
Leave him dead, wrap you up like a mummy
Or a zombie

I'll get you knocked for pennies on the dollar
Knew he got hit, cuz a hit dog gon holler
Yo bitch gon fuck me while wearing a collar
Snuck in your house to piss inside your shower

Black spell, you're just one of the peasants
Started war and you fuckin regret it
Talking shit, bet we chop him like lettuce
F3 in red, not delivering presents

Minamoto is the family militia
Infiltrated like you're one of my niggas
Not in life, were you pulling in triggers
I up the pole and watch your body quiver
Bitch

God body, Hoe I'm built like a God
Minamoto niggas know we the mob
And we won't stop

I was appointed, commander in chief
I beat all the odds
I go 150 when doing my dash
Hop in that foreign and skrt off real fast
Stop all that talking and up me my cash
Designer denim, it sag off my ass

God body, Hoe I'm built like a God
Minamoto niggas know we the mob
And we won't stop

I was appointed, commander in chief
I beat all the odds
I go 150 when doing my dash
Hop in that foreign and skrt off real fast
Stop all that talking and up me my cash
Designer denim, it sag off my ass
Yeah, yeah

Ole stupid ass bitch
I think he lost



Credits
Writer(s): Terrance Beck
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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