XXII - O.T. (Opera Trap)
You cup it, I sip from a chalice
I'm in this bitch, treat
The whole world like my palace
You sleep, then your childish
I'm up, like my balance
My bruises, been callused
I Stuck to the game
Kept it Pusha, no Malice
I stand on my toes, like ballet
It's 2-2, no ballad
Don't ball, I dont flex
But I still got that salad
That cheddar, an lettuce
Some onions an relish
I'm cookin this shit
Who want beef with these veggies
I'm leathal, I'm deadly
See thru you, like neji
My momma told me
You gone know when there ready
To see, what you see
An believe me it's deep
Not a word, not a peep
When you walk amongst sheep
Know it seems grim
But we reap, what we sow
We been, sowing these seeds
Let em grow, let em breath
We just leaves, in a sea full of flowers
Here for a few hours
I'm Ghost with the power
My light turning sour
I'm shining
You diamonds, I'm quartz
Don't try me
They won't find the corpse
I don't endorse, but enforce
The remorse
You an your love got divorced
Remodel that hoe
Treat her like a reward
J'adore, when I'm bored
Pull up at the ports
That Facts, like reports
Whole team wit the straps
I call it support
Yea
We moving openly
I'm going over S.E.E.'s
Hope you don't over see
Understand
They didn't notice me
I'm pullin all the strings
Showcase, my artistry
I don't play sports
But my word play, is varsity
Circled theses squares
No, geometry
Honestly, on so much pot
Feel like pottery
I ain't do robbery
I was more scholarly
Born into poverty
Broke that dichotomy
All this monotony
With the debauchery
Use it improperly
I made a mockery
Built a monopoly
Make me want to settle down a bit
Fake titties, bitch you counterfeit
I'm the hype, an yous a hypocrite
I don't rap, bitch I hawk an spit
My mind was lost, had to recommit
I built the ship with no blue prints
No pencil lead, only penmanship
Ima finish em
Scorpion my grip
An Lu Kang, my kicks
Pop pop and ya dentistry
Call em D.D.S
Dead down the street
Got my heart
Beatin all off of the beat
Can't miss a beat
Like the band wit me
Yea
Ta ta ta blllll
Like I'm marching this shit
I go off in this bitch
Make my offers legit
All the opps is on sit
An my pockets on fit
Means my wallet is healthy
They call that shit wealthy
I'm breaking it down
That's a bar every min
Im like gold bars
An Your bar tab is slim
But you earning your tips
Got my stripes like a tigg
Wait, I mean tig-er
Sit tight, lil tike
I Put a sight on the sig
Then pull up in your drive way
2 AM
Oooooooohhh
Figaro
Figaro
Fiiiiiiigaaaaaaaarooooooooooo
Written by:
Terrell Gilmore
Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
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