Citation Sounds & BOUND BY BLOOD - Enter The Colosseum (feat. Ms. PJ)

Enter the Colosseum with three skilled MC's
Spit bars up in the booth and get down in the streets
Detroit fitted cock to the side, as well as I
It's the Henny' and the Coke that's got a nigga feelin' fly
Step out my front door, still bent from last night
Swervin' behind the wheel and I ain't see that red light
But fuck it, if the beast pull me over I'm done
Cause with a quarter tank of gas ain't no way I can run
Born with a strike against me, the melanin in my skin
Acquired a bunch more, switched my name to Sinn
Multiple aliases get me out of a pinch
Cause in Vegas you got a choice between a hole and a ditch
So keep bumpin' your gums and think you're startin' somethin'
I got a 2x4 with me like that nigga Jim Duggan
You can think it's all rap or I'm just spittin' some words
Get on my bad side, I'll have your ass tastin' the curb
Motherfucker
Achoo, I bless a track like it sneezed
And never mind who can spit, I throw up a sixteen
Difference between me and MC's, is I'm heat
They're claiming they're hot, they're just a lot of humidity
Lite showers, I'm hurricanes on the loose
I'm callin' them all out like it's duck, duck, goose
What if we all told the truth?
That'd render three-fourths of these dudes speechless in the booth
Shit, they better practice their jump shot
I'm about to turn it up a notch, and burn these crabs like a sunspot
I'm not the one, Doc, I'll make it rapper season
Get to Elmer Fudd'n', when you runnin' better Duck and Dodge
And leave your Siegfried missin' a Roy
Swiss cheese your street cred' like Ricky from "Boyz In The Hood"
Boy, don't make me have to Ja-Rule ya'
Make your mama wish ya papa would've pulled out sooner
It's a killin' game, we swing swords like samurai
All I need is some heat and a van to ride
Thug style, kick in your door like DEA
Bricks in the wards, property of Miss PJ
The hits we lay, bang harder than fifteen-inch dick
Split the riff, it's a gift, y'all hit and miss, I twist the spliff
While DJs mix the discs, some played on broadband
Make critics swing from my pussy hairs like Tarzan
Got competition barred and, hit below the knees like Tanya Harding
Backwoods bare the fruits of the secret garden,
Rep three-one-three low in the cut
Don't let the miniskirt fool you, the piece in the trunk
She look, sweet when she dump
Releasing ammo like a loose cannon
Let me loose in the basement, only God can predict what will happen
Believe it or not, Tigger, they never felt a real bitch
Cream of the crop, it figures
That won't, blacken the knees to get to the top
Closed legs get fed
If not, what came first, the Chickenhead or the egg?

Written by:
Da'mon Spease, Devon Spease, Jessica Howard, Jessica Washington

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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