Tackleberry
Tell the preacher at the chapel get the casket ready
Two seven’s hit the third one on the river
Chicken liver dinner have your Jewish mother sitting shiva
‘Cause the kid was a putz
Hit the clutch, spin the tires ‘til they smoke disappear into the dust, uh
Dive in the muff break the pussy like an Asian cookie
You the type to shave your face to make your anus bushy
Tie a knot in your shirt right by your stomach
You make me wanna vomit, steady getting blunted
The diesel sweet and sour, the blunt vanilla
Twist it to perfection, gentle hands, still a guerrilla
I’m at the villa, ’97 D’elegance
The Pelican Brief, you rapping with irrelevance
Hard to kill, call me Mason Storm
Your basic elevate my skills to the type of shit that Gracie’s on
Omaplata, guard your nose, Haloti Ngata
Total knocker, seldom sipping Stoli Vodka
Making maneuvers for myself out on a late night
The year been great right? Trying to get the plate right
‘Cause I’m a hunter like a great white
And a performer, never stage fright
I’m outta Flushing, Queens
Shoot your gun if you love the smell of money
Love the taste of good weed, vintage in your tummy
Love a bitch with good puss diggin’ in her bunny
Peace to gettin’ money, peace to gettin’ money

Yeah, Flushing, Queens. Outdoorsmen shit
Yeah, Action Statik Selektah shit
Kill yourself now