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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