H. Selassie
Black Royalty
Spit like my last breath: casket rap, six feet
Eyes closed, the black is back, out come the 'Lac with flats
After that, bottles I can’t pronounce, like, “How you ask for that?”
Why you ask for crack and all you had was scratch?
All I had was rap, when all they had was wack
All I wanted was love, all they had was dap
fukk them haters and fukk them hoes and cherish your wins
The aftermath, ask LeBron, open palm slap a bytch
Walk the plank or break a bank, I’ve been in the business of sinkin' ships
Chokin' nikkas out with the anchors that they anchor with
Resuscitations cost the label, I’m taxing if you want a hit
Clear, fukk your career, bytch, I was born here
Been a killer, ‘86er, nikka, that’s my born year
Get the fukk from ‘round here, that’s just my country ways
Suckin' on your momma’s titty, bytchin' while I was choppin' blade
Grippin’ grain, fukkin’ hoes, candy paint like Everglades
Miss me with that rapper chatter, take that shyt up with my bass
I put that on my sub, how could you ever doubt me?
Most rappers hoping the world end so they won’t have to drop another album
B.B. King saw the king in me, so why can’t you?
In order to come up close, you’ll have to dig up Cash and Elvis, too
Muddy water flow, Dixie rebel past
fukk your Louis flag, popping benji tags on your wifey’s ass
That’s out of line, but in living color?
I’m more like Miya Bailey on you rap motherfukkers, a true artist
you sayin majority of the game is better than Krit lyrically?
