GODFATHER DON - Status lyrics

rate me

Intense experiments, provide intricate answers

Why I attack weakness like hip cancer

I sip lancers, to drink the pain away quicker

My game stay sicker than all you gay trickers

I spray niggas, like paint and eight illin

For the killin I pack clips that spit in the millions

For fillin ya needs, like 1-900 numbas

Pretty when I talk shitty, now did he wonda...

Am I the true or livin or clues are given

Crews are gettin waxed like wood floors, and they be slippin

Rippin up mics like ya ho

No reasonin for the treasonin, all the stress

The bleedin of the flesh is imperial, for the

Serial killer, illa than David Koresh

Waitin the best out like nocturnal, I get ya

Like a sweat, I wetcha; and left you like a specta

Just to trace a

The coroner can't replace the holes in ya fuckin face

Chasin dreams like them kids from california

I

I'm in the mood to make moves and gain status

So let's see all emcees that be the baddest

I'm in the mood to make cash without the rocks

So let's see all real Gs who don't stop

Peace to my nigs, upon bids, I warn kids

Of my addiction, to exterminate ya fiction

Beherets inherits slugs, when the asharons

Bashed upon n fits the gods like the wrath of don

Ya nervous, cause my word hits, yer in the cata...

Tonic, my raps are pondered like percentas up inna

So winna, follow the sinna, smoke beginnas

The winna of ya discontent's where I meant to send ya

The ends accumulate like kids in

I drop a lot, like diuretics to rock or not, I embed it

The subliminal from the criminal

For the love, a jesus de christa

The mista cop that got torched spans the ages

In my third life, I blaze a lame, shame the sages

You don't know me, I'm faceless, so take this

And puff one; time for ya mind and find traces

Of bodies, battered and bruised, so crews do

The brew; bloodshed and conflict results so when I'm in the mood...

You got the mark of triple six, so I hit you quick

My script'll rip, any shit that ya nig'll flip

No-names, plain, insane,

Beneath the remains, I often see stains from games usin propane

From puttin fire unda rappas asses...

The masta passes; all herbs and nerds, I smash ya glasses

Lethal intent, from

Buried from the flurries of hot lead, that was embedded

In swine's noses, fuck the days of wine and roses

Used to be my man, but check the threat my nine poses

From minds

From hit squads, gunnin to get by, runnin ya shit's hard

And the jungle of concrete, the don peeps

Mad depression, got my dreads swarmin the concession spot

Ya dead on 'em... now here's the warnin: