lirik lagu kenny diaz - curriculum vitae
kenny diaz ft. a~b~tta ~ “curriculum vitae”
[emcee(s): a~b~tta]
[producer(s): kenny diaz]
[verse 1: a~b~tta]
ayyo, i write rhymes daily, i’m hot like halley’s comet
and my n~ggas throw it up like vomit, and i
smoke anything—i mean anything—from that
dirty brown chocolate to the west coast chronic. if you
need it, i got. if i see, i cop it. got so many
avi’, they gave me the keys to the c~ckpit, pop off
shots through your knocker, make you bleed through your boxers. see me
with vodka and ganja on a beach in bahamas, laid~up
with a slo who be feeding me pasta like i’m
tony from sopranos, only for the cash flow
and she don’t like it there, only in her assh0l~
raps so sick, b~tch, blow that d~ck. (she’s)
(swallowing). here, hold that clip (of these)
(hollow tips. we’re monsterous), beastly
each week, we re~up, see? we’re them hustlers
b~tches want free weed and dutches, but i
keeps ‘em on their knees ‘til they’re needing crutches, clutch
the hammer, screaming out, “u can’t touch this,” sell like
“country grammar,” so rambunctious. f~ck
your mama and papa, bruh. we’re not cousins, uh~uh
[hook: a~b~tta]
n~ggas think
b~tta be f~cking around ‘til i act like black moon
and start “bucking ‘em down.” sh~t, huh, we could drink
a couple of rounds and go a couple of rounds
smoke a couple of pounds or smoke a couple of pounds
then take that! i’ll put clowns under the ground, have their
mothers wondering how their son isn’t found—f~ck that
spit thunderous sound. i ain’t f~cking around
i ain’t f~cking around. nah, n~gga
[verse 2: a~b~tta]
‘cause, see, my
curriculum vitae, man, simple and plain. i ain’t
blow yet, i know n~ggas is feeling my pain. it’s
aight though, i light hydro to the brain. know i came
from squeezing in between people on the train, squeezing
two more chicks inside a light~blue range
nice new chain for y’all to admire, spit
hot sh~t. what you want? lava or fire? b~tches scream
“oh my god.” i’m not the messiah, just
a guy with a big c~ck and a glock full of iron sh~t
y’all n~ggas could see
i’m sitting on 22’s, sipping a 22
gripping my .22 with a b~tch that’s 22
[hook: a~b~tta]
n~ggas think
b~tta be f~cking around ‘til i act like black moon
and start “bucking ‘em down.” sh~t, huh, we could drink
a couple of rounds and go a couple of rounds
smoke a couple of pounds or smoke a couple of pounds
then take that! i’ll put clowns under the ground, have their
mothers wondering how their son isn’t found—f~ck that
spit thunderous sound. i ain’t f~cking around
i ain’t f~cking around. nah, n~gga
[outro: a~b~tta] (x2)
another one bites the dust
another one bites the dust
and another one dies, another one dies
another one bites the dust
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