Mad Skillz

Mad Skillz - Fatty Girl Freestyle lyrics

rate me

Fuckin' with skillz, you gon' meet ya doom

Nigga I spit fire that make dragons wanna leave the room

I put VA on the map, open the south

When I spit, bitches open up they legs or they mouth

And ya mans wanna battle, but I aint let him

I dont know who can see me, cuz I aint met 'em

Man these cats aint thugs they fools

I take ya bandana, wet it, pop you with it like we did at the pool

When I start smakin' niggas they gonna see who rule

Cats callin' Tawkus up like "I thought he was cool!"

Yall reefer seeds, I'm a block of raw

And when I spit the words, they lock the jaw

And I plan to win, when I bomb the sound

So a if thats ya mans and them, calm 'em down

I warned you clown, I'm heatin' up in degrees

I have you singin' bout fallin' like Alica Keys

Man these fuckers and ballers, they scrubs

First muh'fucker tried to sneak a slerpie in the club

Ya not "supa", we aint close to friends

And I throw away dubs like broke the rims

You gotta be twins, you look as broke as him

When I get in the game, expect a broken rim

I'm a shot caller, with no excuse to brawl

Got well known rappers wishin' they could shoot ball

You at ya mans house, bald with shoes

I'm on some rims that go backward when the car dont move

Bitch at the light, I thought I stopped her heart

She saw the wheels, got scared threw her car in park

I'm the type that has BET seein' me as a threat

You the type to tuck the coogie down in ya sweats

P.diddy run the city, thats his claim to fame?

If he moved to VA, he'd change his name

I dont like rappers, stay out of my sight

If I give you dap, you better use that hand to write

Yo the words I spit, could charge ya whip

I let yall talk slick, but thats as far's its gets

You aint gotta gun, you aint gon blast the 8

You a punk, you got ya hype man ass in ya face

Ask around, I'm a basket case

I got words that make a nigga in a casket shake

What the hell you gonna tell me kid

I get ya chick in ya crib, like I was kelly and you was Mr. Biggs

Pull off and bust on her back

Tell ya ass yo, goto the studio and rap about that

Niggas talk how they flow so well

But they hooks be garbage, guess what you aint gon' sell

I'm east but I'm slightly south

Nigga I got Jordans that'll make mike cus Nike out

But when I'm jig, you got to feel me

The gators so live the crocodile hunter tried to kill me

I told him, "Steavy dont even try it."

Slapped him with the pistol and said "be very quiet"

I aint got time for yall

Two way me with letters dog, cuz i aint got time to call

If you drop on my Tuesday, you wont win

Put a chip in ya phone, call a million of ya friends

Tell 'em to cop it again, make sure its in the mall

Play Russian rullet until ya manager call

Belive me dog, cuz I'm real

You built to spit but you aint built to spit with Skillz

I'm the best that ever did it cuz

I aint gotta get Nate on a hook to give westcoast love

I strut through any hood

I was fuckin' in Miami, yall was down there duckin' Suge

So tell me whats good, what ya life be bout

Suge got you shook, fuck you doin' shoutin' him out?

You aint down, start slidin' nigga

I already gave you pound, STOP DICK RIDIN' NIGGA

You a grown man you need to stop it

Skillz represent, buy the album when I drop it

Get this song at:  amazon.com  sheetmusicplus.com

Share your thoughts

0 Comments found