Won't Stop

Verse 1:

Models and dimes, ugly hoes follow inside

Proud of my dick and mad chicks swallow my pride

Getting head jobs from strippers

Twisted off the eggnog and liquor

A big dog like Clifford

Melt gimmicks every time I spit

With rhymes like crowds in health clinics cause every line is sick

I squeeze clips at each clique to see how they deal with heat

When I put them under arms like Speed Stick

Please bitch, with metal to your frame

I rep the C.O. nonstop, it's the first two letters of my name

Competitors are slain by this intelligent gunner

Quick to pop the trunk like an elephant hunter

And you might be upset your dad and I got something in common

Your mom kissing both our babies right before bed

And like me or not, bitch, I'm 'bout to light me a spliff

So any shit you got to spit I'll more than likely forget

Verse 2:

I talk a lot of shit cause I know a lot of shit

Your bitch comes to my show to swallow a lot of dick

So which idiot should I shit on?

The one that spit on the mic or his friend who convinced him to get on?

You spit your best shit on everybody's mix tape

Now for your album you're left with shit you wrote in sixth grade

That's why I don't rhyme on mix tapes

I mix hate and science and spit straight sick shit your bitch hates

On Tower I admit rape

And it was well worth the gas and the switchblade

It took to get laid

Plus your girl looks like a great fuck

But that's only from the face down and the waist up

And I got eight sluts, one for each day I wake up

Plus an extra for the morning I die laying face up

I'll pull you out your truck, get slammed up the dash

For rhyming like you got Jim Henson's fist crammed up your ass

Pull out the thirty-eight, hold it to the crowd

And leave every critic's body that dissed me "Holier Than Thou"

Extinguish the hottest emcee's match

When I cuff the mic at twelve decibels I still get positive feedback

Verse 3:

Saw your one blunt and that dirty ain't worth the buy

Raw and uncut like Eddie Murphy uncircumcised

When Copywrite's on tour, stop and hide your whore

Certified thief, alarms go off when I walk inside the store

O. H. ten, been repping the state from the second

I stepped on the stage 'till I'm dead in a grave

And got a buzz but my head isn't shaved

Get the leaves and doja

Sick of being sober and my medicine's haze

Veteran praise, and I don't write for the wealth

I'll stage my own death, come back and ghost write for myself

Your diss back's weren't able to help

Me and RJ's like slip mats: on most turntables we're felt

Now pray for yourselves, still opponents lost a spar again

I can't be faded like a homeless Rastafarian

Before I rock the booth I need lots of loot

Got it coming together like Siamese prostitutes