Michael.J. - 4rounds

They call me terror cuz i am the bomb
Cant tell me nun cuz i am Osama
New silk robe yea im the don
Parkin the benz out on the lawn
Sit down fore i make you my son
Hell yea i write my own shit
Ya ghost writer really should quit
I really got yall shitin bricks
Karate chop wit the sauce
You should gon head stop
I paid the cost
Now you lost
Acting tough like you some kinda boss
Im tryna be like rachel and ross
All with the sauce
My boys gon make yo ass talk
Time for round 2 look at my guap
Aye
Michael aye
Pull up at yo do’
You outta pocket aye
I made a deposit aye
Look at my closet aye
Im number 1 not 2 you screwed
You best improve
I just viewed the versace store for shoes
Me and the team thats cool
We aint fucking wit you dudes yo
Back still boutta attack
I got the rack
Look at that stack
Get in the back
Catch me in the act
Lock you up with a latch
Yo shit wack
Look at the stats
Im all about that
First class on deck
Newest watch sets
Gucci necklace
Me and the team we set
What i say get that
Im a pro thats that
I aint peaked just yet
What you doing did that
If this was a race i won that
Im a 10 who are you
Yo time been thru
Picture me rollin
Get a fucking clue yuh
They already know its me
You could never be the
I been the best now cant you see
Im rollin in a G you cant see me
Im bout to start workin on my degree
Dollas fallin down on me
Yall be on that fake boogue
Tryna live above yo means
YUH
Real crackheads like dae dae see
Oh yea all my dimonds bling
You wack ass niggas livin check to check see
Now bow to the master and take yo plea

Written by:
Michael Joseph

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find