Iron Solomon

Iron Solomon - That Bullshit lyrics

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[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 a g

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?

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