Iron Solomon
Текст песни That Bullshit

[Hook]
That New York bullshit, we on it
That Brooklyn bullshit, we won it
That sour and bullshit we on it
We on it, yeah, yeah, who want it
That Harlem bullshit, we on it
That kill you bullshit, we on it
That bx bullshit, we on it
We on it, yeah, yeah, who want it

Ain't the be the best can't I compete
Ain't another rapper in the ring rival me
Flow like a butterfly, sting like a bee
Talk like a gentleman, swing like ag
Life's a bitch, I'm a Casanova
I make that pussy fret like I practice yoga
Give me a shot of jack and a glass of sod
We the come up purple bags fat as oprah
We bunted blunts big as tree trunks
Earn enough paper turn a forest into tree stumps
Only car in my lane no speed bumps
Married to the game, no pre nup
Living on the lamb, still a wanted man
You can see but can't touch, I'm a hologram
Dark saw potential in me from the sonogram
Killing everybody this summer, I'm the son of sam

That up town bullshit, we on it
That down town bullshit, we on it
That east coast bullshit, we on it
We on it, yeah, yeah, who want it

That Midwest bullshit, we on it
That west coast bullshit, we on it
That down south bullshit, we on it
We on it, yeah, yeah, who want it

Move, slick as slick, so smooth
Discrete and swift beef, I got food
My dogs eat with me, they all loyal
Hard boil, skump gargoyles
Room for god soil
Ratchet with the presence of a gifted youth
Hit the booth then spit like I bit forbidden fruit
Whether I give them heaven or hell, I give them truth
God works in mysterious ways, I'm living proof
Been quiet since before I had a wisdom truth
Learned how to mix a medicine with the chicken soup
Throw some brand new wheels on a vintage coup
Whippin like a hurricane victim with a missing roof
Don't say the top down, say it's open minded
Know what I need but I don't know where to go to find it
Power bites the hand that feeds till I throw the pinus
It's all part of god's plan, but I go decided
The author of my own destiny, writer of the recipe
Fighter and a referee
… a pint of hennesey, rivalry with enemies
Caught up in the irony, this life will be the death of me
Who want it?