Hayworth

[Verse 1: Mickey Factz] Yeah, they see me in them 25th letters, all they do is why Can't he get better Of course over time, but that's an extra quarter $1.25 if you caught it you a scorer Tom Brady aura, Patriot created Now I want my quarter back, hurry with the payment Your wifey on my balls till they both got deflated The writings on the wall Stevie saw it when he sang it Ribbon in the sky, tie it to a cloud This gifted nigga fly like a pigeon when it glides Searching for the present like your listen for the time And it's all wrapped when I'm fitting it inside (?) Morikami paintings you can see them in the entrance I be getting faded fireball is my apprentice Metaphors I live by my nigga Lupe get the credit On top of that they can't equal facts Tower over niggas, tell me who want a piece of that? Leaning back, Morgan Freeman rap, yeah you see the bat Without that Michael Keaton cat, Y-3, bring it back [Hook: Mickey Factz] This is how it go Shit is different on me Now you know Spend a little time Doing me on the low Now they got me feeling like the G.O.A.T Like whoa, I'm the best I tell my mirror everyday Little homie I'm the best Now these haters feel some kind of way Cause I got them things on [Verse 2: eLZhi] El, let me begin like this I gets deep (?) (?) motor bike cyclists That was written in blood, type-0 No misspelling I got the mannerisms of a man of wisdom Rolling up a gram of ism Busting off the brain like an aneurysm Bet I officially win We'll put up paper But y'all scared to pinpoint when to pencil me in Your schedule is clear that my legible handwriting Is groundbreaking like Super Saiyans Fighting super friends and titans Why would you sleep on my position in rap Cause if those listeners (?) kept staring how I'm missing a step Supplying lines like I'm kilo flipping Don’t let me get in your head, stick out my foot And have your ego tripping Those (?) pursuit of Leaves mummified And should get they piece from a pie That's just food for thought [Hook] [Verse 3: Cyhi The Prynce] Y-3, I'm talking Jeremy Scott Yohji Yamamoto cause Yeezy's barely in stock My pops ain't gone bury me, boy I'ma bury my pops Before I bury the hatchet, I rather bury the Glock She said I never smoke Well, I got to cherry the pop I got that mary jane, I smoke the hairiest pot What if Mary Magdalene had a bloody mary with a virgin On December 25th While bumping Mary J. Blige And Miss Mary Mack got on this little lamb Would you still say Merry Christmas If Joseph married the thot? Lord have mercy You ain't heard no bars as sweet as this, Lord have Hershey's My birthday is the only other day supposed to have Turkish Kirkwood is the new Mexico And I ain't talking Albuquerque Huh, boy, you gone have to murk 'em I done swam through deeper waters This shit ain't half as murky My clip pack a thirty Can't let you bastards hurt me You gone need the same stitches They put the name on the back of jerseys with God please forgive 'em For shooting at the clergy And my bitch kill every event Jackie Joyner-Kersee, motherfucker [Hook]