The Chosen
(Justice League)
They wanna know what I got on the wrist cost me
Plottin' to get it off me, this ain't water, this shit coffee
Brownstones, bitch, this the Cosbys
A nigga still slidin' with sticks like Sid Crosby
I used to flip doggy, got on my hip, I lift off me if niggas get froggy
Told the record label, "You got 48 hours like Nick Nolte
To restructure the deal, the numbers only insult me"
They send satellites to space, and it traced an intelligent life when it came across me
Niggas gon' be pourin' out D'USSÉ if niggas double cross me
The wrist frosty, the gift godly, y'all Kriss Kross to me
Y'all lil' niggas got it backwards, bro do the steppin' and he not a Kappa
Push the black and yellow Maybach, niggas thinkin' I was cabber
It's not a rapper that I fear, you niggas not a factor
Yeah, I cross my T's, dotted my I's
Rap nigga still struggle to eat, I'm not surprised
Look, I got it out of the streets and I survived
Third degree, that's from all of the heat that I provide (whoa)
Look, I make them salty motherfuckers uncomfortable
Cause when they see that dog in your heart, they wanna muzzle you
And Weez used to tell me them niggas is drinkin' hundred proof
Thinkin' that they can fuck with you, so give 'em more lines and see a sucker suits
Machine indestructible, them same brownstones got my bitch lookin' like a young Clair Huxtable
They say, Machine, it ain't fair if niggas dare fuck with you
It's clear-cut that you the king, nigga, yeah
Machine lead the team, I'm runnin' up the seam, nigga
It's like Michael Thomas and Brees, nigga
I took this dope shit, move blocks, I had to sell it like a screen, nigga
Opened up the lead, but we still runnin' these flea flickers
Hm, Skip, that looked really good, Skip
You had to be impressed with what you saw (Drumwork)
I know you liked it, Skip
Look, I'm Slim Reaper when I hit speakers
Runnin' for the full first 48 minutes like I don't get breathers
I hit the gym and I suspend leisure
Finna be a hundred emcee, a new champ, and drum swept leaders
And we ain't even break a sweat neither
My scorin' numbers reflect this was my best season
You ain't do enough work at the gym, yo' chest weaker
I'm euro-stepping to the rack, got the city on my back, homie
I drop 40, still paddin' up my stats, homie
Deadly as Kobe or Kyrie up in the mask, homie
I got it on lock, it's automatic like I had the mags on me
Telfar, I'm T'd in my bag, homie
I'm in the lead with the most MVP votes
I'm King James how I dominated the East coast, uh
And when it's all said and done, it leaves two statistical categories
I'ma lead both, Machine ghost
Tell the truth, yeah, go ahead say it
Is it my turn?
No, no, no you can say you li-, nod if you like it
I like it
We hold it down, East to West, on both coasts
It's facts, undisputed, we ain't no movin' no goalposts
Our money from the three-O to low post, I cook 'em on slow roast
The other side really want no smoke (yeah)
We hold it down, East to West, on both coasts
It's facts, undisputed, we ain't no movin' no goalposts
Our money from the three-O to low post, I cook 'em on slow roast
The other side really want no smoke
They wanna know what I got on the wrist cost me
Plottin' to get it off me, this ain't water, this shit coffee
Brownstones, bitch, this the Cosbys
A nigga still slidin' with sticks like Sid Crosby
I used to flip doggy, got on my hip, I lift off me if niggas get froggy
Told the record label, "You got 48 hours like Nick Nolte
To restructure the deal, the numbers only insult me"
They send satellites to space, and it traced an intelligent life when it came across me
Niggas gon' be pourin' out D'USSÉ if niggas double cross me
The wrist frosty, the gift godly, y'all Kriss Kross to me
Y'all lil' niggas got it backwards, bro do the steppin' and he not a Kappa
Push the black and yellow Maybach, niggas thinkin' I was cabber
It's not a rapper that I fear, you niggas not a factor
Yeah, I cross my T's, dotted my I's
Rap nigga still struggle to eat, I'm not surprised
Look, I got it out of the streets and I survived
Third degree, that's from all of the heat that I provide (whoa)
Look, I make them salty motherfuckers uncomfortable
Cause when they see that dog in your heart, they wanna muzzle you
And Weez used to tell me them niggas is drinkin' hundred proof
Thinkin' that they can fuck with you, so give 'em more lines and see a sucker suits
Machine indestructible, them same brownstones got my bitch lookin' like a young Clair Huxtable
They say, Machine, it ain't fair if niggas dare fuck with you
It's clear-cut that you the king, nigga, yeah
Machine lead the team, I'm runnin' up the seam, nigga
It's like Michael Thomas and Brees, nigga
I took this dope shit, move blocks, I had to sell it like a screen, nigga
Opened up the lead, but we still runnin' these flea flickers
Hm, Skip, that looked really good, Skip
You had to be impressed with what you saw (Drumwork)
I know you liked it, Skip
Look, I'm Slim Reaper when I hit speakers
Runnin' for the full first 48 minutes like I don't get breathers
I hit the gym and I suspend leisure
Finna be a hundred emcee, a new champ, and drum swept leaders
And we ain't even break a sweat neither
My scorin' numbers reflect this was my best season
You ain't do enough work at the gym, yo' chest weaker
I'm euro-stepping to the rack, got the city on my back, homie
I drop 40, still paddin' up my stats, homie
Deadly as Kobe or Kyrie up in the mask, homie
I got it on lock, it's automatic like I had the mags on me
Telfar, I'm T'd in my bag, homie
I'm in the lead with the most MVP votes
I'm King James how I dominated the East coast, uh
And when it's all said and done, it leaves two statistical categories
I'ma lead both, Machine ghost
Tell the truth, yeah, go ahead say it
Is it my turn?
No, no, no you can say you li-, nod if you like it
I like it
We hold it down, East to West, on both coasts
It's facts, undisputed, we ain't no movin' no goalposts
Our money from the three-O to low post, I cook 'em on slow roast
The other side really want no smoke (yeah)
We hold it down, East to West, on both coasts
It's facts, undisputed, we ain't no movin' no goalposts
Our money from the three-O to low post, I cook 'em on slow roast
The other side really want no smoke
Credits
Writer(s): Erik Ortiz, Carlos Diernhammer, Demond Price, Jarrett Jackson, Kevin Colione Crowe
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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