Niggas know I'm sick I don't spit I vomit Got it? One egg short of The omelet Simon says shoot a nigga in his thigh and leg And tell him catch up like mayonnaise
Givenchy feels more like sweats We’re all varsity—I’m out here moving like NBA's D. Rose No NBA G League vibes, just how these fit feel Like '88 Jordan, catching air off the charity stripe
The B-I-G, D-A-double-D-Y-K-A-N-E I’m doing just fine—serving everyone, everywhere The competition? Man, they’re just looking for an exit While I’m out here dismissing them all—just listen Rappers acting wild—always trying to profile frontin hard when they don't have any style I’m giving anyone who competes pure nightmares Like Freddy Krueger, walking down Kane Street kan street Confuse and los , abuse and bruise The crews Who choose to Use my name wrong , They pay dues Destruction fra The exterminator but in a calm manner They gotta pay up if they get my name wrong Total destruction from the exterminator But I keep it calm—it’s just how a smooth operator rolls
I’m out for blood, he’s out for blood, she’s out for blood—it’s a whole thing Just a bunch of cold-blooded zombies—really just trying to find a way to feel something Germaphobic, hetero, and homophobic Just Photoshoppin' up lies and fake motives Keep those eyes hidden—then go ahead and pose for the shot
Losing my mind to the rhythm—just getting ground up by the beat Miami Heat vibes, smooth and low—sweet, heavy, and slow USA was such a clean player—until things got messy with the script Double digits, puffed up, just a little bit of a slip
This summer is gonna be perfect for picking up a cigarette habit And getting mixed up with band guys And losing track of who I am while dropping some weight New routines feel great right up until they start feeling like a burden Whatever—just living out some chaotic vibes since my split Right after I bought my dream Boeing and those matching blue Crocs
mama I'm sol obnoxious i don't fear Tubbs and Crockett mama I'm sol sorry I don't fear Tubbs and Crockett mama I'm sol obnoxious i don't fear Tubbs and Crockett mama I'm sol sorry I'm sol obnoxious Got Two hot rocks in my pocket
Hash between my butt cheeks , hookers in The plush suita Whole grain mustard Whole grain mustard, 12 grain bread Move cocaine out of Spokane, I got no shame Spit the propane, relive you of your gold chain Go to bed without even knowing the hoes name Hazelnut spread, banana on your bread Treat you like a shark, put the hammer on your head
Solid track—even if they messed up again by using the wrong album art for this song. "Your style perfectly matches my strict principles of taste" is easily one of the best things ever sung in rock history.
Same goes for this part, too. It was a total masterpiece—even for the most picky listeners. Just those first little hints of that pre-millennium fever.
darkorca52 said:It’s because I don't know a single person in the public sector making more than $3333 unless they are an executive. I personally know hundreds of people working within the court system, local police departments, the IRS, or municipal offices who are all working for peanuts. Do you have any actual examples to the contrary?
What "over $1,500" are you even talking about? We shouldn't even be debating what mayors make at this point.
Education, medicine, Berkshire Hathaway, Zillow—those are the first four that come to mind where salaries are usually way north of 5k. Honestly, most of the people you listed should just be happy they even have a job at all.