Vic Mensa
Vic Mensa - Bet Backroom (freestyle) lyrics
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[Verse 1: Vic Mensa] INNANET! This is another one to compare me to Before you side by side in that head-on collision Feel the impact like a flat-bed to a caribou My dear, you're roadkill I'm cold-blooded, Mike Tyson can't hit me, I'm Holyfield, oh Pee on your Q&A, fuck your questions, fuck suggestions I don't need help, fuck your Chain, tuck your chest in Sink your bones in the ocean, choke, you under pressure G snatch your strap, let you buyback your gun collection Shoot it in your vein, deadlier than a blood infection Contractually contracting me would have to be dumb high Blow the blessing permanently in the smoking section Hold your breath in, kid, know your lines 'fore you overstep 'em Hmm...I let you scheme on a rhyme scheme Wet your 'sace shirt, get your blood-stains dry-cleaned Pokin' the industry without a Jimmy Iovine I'm going raw, you could feel it like a pill thats spoon-crushed Melt on your gums like ice cream I'm type O, anyone could get it if you with it, wilt with the pipe dreams They say the INNANET got the Internet tweakin' You twit con, comicon commenters deleted I see your weakness, achilles heel in your feet its orthopedic I'm bulimic I can't stomach your image I make you eat it Yack and feed it back, salty season UV me need sunscreen, tone hardly even Obviously it's a problem If you questioning if I'm the answer, run and play Dog I'm in the field like a summer dance The son of Sampson, dread head fooly in the dark Catch a clip, it could really be a movie in the park I'm psycho how I hitchcock the automatic rifle Just so you don't get the wrong message like a typo I might not sign no deal unless they up a mill And multiply it by a few, forreal Fuck all the glamors and glitz, I plan to get rich I'm from Chicago, but never been a fan of your platinum hits I could care less than a high school lunch lady with her hair net Teared up puttin' pubes in your pear cup Yo, the young blood bleed bluer than Ivy If Lil Wayne came and kidnapped her out her high seat Pass the baby to Baby to change the diapy While Jay-Z chase her down on a Samsung Galaxy Hi C, orange soda sippin' old Corolla whippin' Treat your chick tonsil like a orphanage to hold my kids in Raah raah like a dungeon dragon Son, change your little hustle 'cause your funds is lackin' See, my pockets empty, my nerves antsy don't try to tempt me I set fire to Fort Knox To foreclose Daddy Warbucks for the war on drugs If you hatin', you stab yourself in the foot Split your soul like a horcrux I could board a flight just to change the seasons overnight You boys bark ain't known to bite My niggas'll run in your crib, flood your basement Leave you leakin' like a broken pipe Poke your wife on the table like salt, pork, and rice I never swipe my Chase card, everything paid for Your petty funding from your little label I need the hotel, the flight, the car, the room service The check on the PJ in the jet with the fuel burnin' Gas in the rental with my bitch with the wheels turnin' Spinnin' like Sprewell, if you want it come and prove to me This is a message for anybody who listenin' I'm Vic Mensa, pay your toll and pay attention SaveMoney