lirik lagu eradicate - 80 bars
80 bars n-gga, i’ll hope on it, about to spit this sh-t so loud, get the cops on me. fake -ss, triple x up on yo chest, talking sh-t on the mic, “this white boys the best!” boy you ain’t sh-t, getcha punk -ss robbed, w-ngang eat yo -ss up like corn up on the cob. don’t even tell me that you “grinding hard”, only thing you “grinding” is yo mama’s yard. keep this knowledge sealed up in that carton, i keep it 300 hundred, like spartans. i swear to god i ain’t fronting, w-ngang ent? that’s what yo n-ggas bumping. my music up in yo ear phones, b-ss so violent, i’m braking bones, spitting flows like cyclones, run it back to gloom, i’m going “home”
16 during the making, 17 when it drops, produce everybody’s sh-t and i can’t even get no f-cking props. but it don’t matter, don’t n0body even care, post all these statuses, can’t even get 1 one share, make an excuse and can’t come do a feature cause they ain’t got no time to spare. everybody struggling, trying to make it to the top, i’m not gone quit till i decease and then probably never ever stop. doing what they can, to bring my -ss down, 2 years from now, you’re gonna be the one still stuck in this f-cking town, b-tch
please tell me what’s the benefit of rapping about hoes? oh you slept with a girl that’s easy, now everybody knows. oh yeah and i forgot, you never let down your guard, another song about drugs, yeah your pretty hard. i’m sick of these f-cking cheesy -ss wanna be rappers, talking about their guns, completely -ss backwards. so really i mean really, if you wanna step me, just letting you know your stepping to w-ngang ent. and no i’m not staying that “i’m the best” but if you p-ss me off i’m probably gonna become possessed. 1, 2, 3 and to the 4, wiseburger’s gaining fans and all they want is more. hopesolid in the back of my range rover, on the way to the top trying get some exposure, get into a gunfight while under composure, step on the gas, this hoe is about to get ran the f-ck over
i’m coming back in locked and mother f-cking loaded, sorry my feelings got left out in the rain their mother f-cking corroded. i do not give one f-ck about you or the story, grab that f-cking drum straight out of my inventory. b-tch i’m out here lurkin, raise my coat tail, that 7” blade, get yo f-cking -ss impaled. “boy i’m all about that paper, b-tch it ain’t no game”, this song is just like the others, it’s all the f-cking same
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