Mr.KRT - Manny My Producer

Manny sample flipping while I'm in these archive
Dabble dipping through some shit to rip it
Superstitious Mississippi, up bringing
You got me totting 12 gages

I'm the trunk and my junky junt
With that single action pump
Bitch, I'm crunk, then a motherfucker, tryna hurt a busta
Pillmanize his ass, make that ass suffer

What a busta, I'd salute ya
But Manny my producer, letting loose on anybody tryna steal my DJ nigga
I'm a be shooting you
It ain't fun, encompassing both my style and breath

Deprecation of self, why expect anything less from a nigga
Describing his physical appearance, with project titles like Stained Teef & Dirty
Forces
From the Chi to the M-Town, Beverly

To Orange Mound, World renowned with this bumpin' sound
But not quite yet, you give the sense of greatest shit
Loomin' on the horizon, vying for highness that's against the odds
Mane, I am defined

Lil hoe, I learn from losses
Endured crosses from a system
Hell bent, on crucifixion of niggas
Been a victim but my vicious

It's something different
Punches, I roll with it
Pivot and slip it
Defense exquisite

Counter with body shots
With every assault attempted
And I carry powers in both hand, bitch
Going in with my opposition

Wind it, and I dare you to
Recollect who does it better
Ain't no answer, mothafucka
This rhetorical question

What I'm tryna tell you
Manny sample flipping while I'm in my archive
Dabble dipping through some shit to rip it
Superstitious Mississippi, up bringing

Got me totting 12 gages
I'm the trunk and my junky junt
With that single action pump
Hoe, I'm crunk, then a motherfucker, tryna hurt a busta

Pillmanize his ass, make that ass suffer
What up busta, I salute ya but
Manny my producer, letting loose on anybody
Tryna still my DJ, nigga I'm a shoot

I feel the flow, long before I fill the words
Still can't concur, the sickness comprehended
Finished products only Layman's terms
Felt the burn left em unsinged, supposed to been

More akin to ashes on your asses
But I just can't seem to capture
All this madness that been trapped in
Need some beats that can match it

Need producers that can handle all these thoughts
So frantic, what up Boot, what up J
And my dog Paraphrazed, Rob and Fee on your first born
I must congratulate

Hold up
Microphone checker
Let the record show it
K.R.T

The beast in me is growing loud
I had to hold it
Hold it and control it
Once upon this life

I live and die by this mic
Wouldn't come second to none of you suckas
I got to touch him
East Memphis style

That's how I does it
When I got to touch him
Suckas hit that fat head
I gots to bust him

Suckas been misled
Like they been dodging buck 'ems
Like I ain't the one to judge him
Like I ain't gon' step up off

My pedestal to bury you
Yeah
Manny sample flipping while I'm in my archive
Dabble dipping through some shit to rip it

Superstitious Mississippii up bringing
Got me totting 12 gages
In the trunk of my junky junt
With that single action pump

Mane, I'm crunked than a mothafucka
Tryna hurt a busta
Pillmanize his ass
Make that ass suffer

What a busta
I salute ya
But, Manny my producer
Letting loose on anybody

Tryna steal my DJ nigga
I'ma shoot you
Yeah

Written by:
Keith Taylor

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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