Lyrics Lyrical Wizardry - Junior M.A.F.I.A.
Lyrical
wizardry
dances
on
MC′s
like
Murray
on
SC's
Never
flaunt,
now
motherfuckers
come
test
me
Burnin
everybody
hotter
than
torches
at
Jamaican
parties
Far
from
angels,
niggas
can′t
see
me
like
Charlie
Style
weak?
Hardly!
Don't
let
the
wacked
persue
you
like
Marley
JM
clique
moves
in
packs
like
whities
on
Harleys
Niggas
get
injured,
fucked
do'
in
40
fingers
Got
bitches
by
bike
bar
bussin
Glocks
off
a′
niggas
Klep
don′t
give
three
shits
to
flip
scripts
Miss
bullets
from
clips,
leave
niggas
rollin
up
skateboards
Wit
nuttin
under
they
hips,
bitch,
so
if
you
test
me
Shit
gets
messy,
bustin
.38
speci
Outta
paper
bags
like
Joe
Pesci
Yo,
you
know
the
tune
Make
sure
bitches
don't
eat
when
it′s
time
to
shit
out
them
coke
balloons
Balked
up
the
ninja
when
it
got
shady,
now
I
got
grown
ladies
Bustin
.380's
outta
E
Class
Mercedes
(Hurry
the
fuck
up
bitchm,
get
on!)
(Fuck
you
motherfucker
let
me
out
this
L)
(There
they
go
right
there,
dot
them
niggas)
(Motherfuckers!!
*gun
shots*)
MC′s
get
cut
like
glass,
cut
like
glass
Rag
tagged
and
crash,
hemp
bags,
come
save
dat
ass
Who
wanna
get
broke
the
fuck
up?
Tell
me!
Freakin
vocabulary
like
Chinese
and
spelling
bees
T-P-E-L-K
held
to
reflect
a
device-es
The
nicest,
Jesus
Christ-es
Junior
Mafioso,
niggas
get
torn
off
head
to
torso
Bullets
evacuated
out
windows
From
Hekkyl
and
Coch,
P7
inmates
Extra
.380
on
a
string
'round
my
neck
cos
feds
check
the
waist
No
time
to
waste,
grab
the
loot
and
escape
before
next
break
Heads
are
clockin,
private
eyes
are
watchin
Nigga
caught
up
in
the
hustle
Fuck
flippin
packages
and
tyin
up,
minx
and
rings
I
bubble
Trouble′s
what
I
look
for
in
stores
on
expensive
floors
Beeling
boots
is
essence,
bookin
Pelle's
in
my
drawers
Armani,
Gianni
Versace,
V2
Lost
count
o'
all
the
little
sections
me
and
mans
ran
thru
It
ain′t
hard
to
discard
cans
of
mace
on
guards
Leave
them
bitch
ass
niggas
screamin
like
a
fuckin
retard
Lyrically
I
come
off
like
ink
alarms
Got
styles
under
the
wing
like
spread
is
booked
under
my
arms
Niggas
couldn′t
see
me
with
closed
circuit
TV
Tryin
to
peep
my
steez,
like
DT's
I
get
over
like
I′m
fifteen
(Hey,
you're
not
fifteen)
I′m
fifteen,
what?
(What
do
you
think
we
are?
Assholes
or
somethin?)
Fuck
you!
Soundin
like
that
nigga
from
Night
Court
Loose
my
cuffs
I'm
outta
here!
MC′s
be
fake
like
toupes
so
I
transplant
Implant
my
fist
to
their
face
makin
their
skin
red
Soundwaves
disrupted,
they
fucked,
kid
Airholes
bloody
rupted
but
that
ain't
nuttin
The
best
is
yet
to
come
MC's
get
strung
like
heads
on
drums
They
don′t
be
knowin
what
I′m
knowin
Flowin
like
I'm
flowin
Makin
motherfuckers
take
nose
dives
like
747
Boeings
Obnoxious
beef′s
squashes
face-to-face
Niggas
get
wet
up
like
Alasha's
on
Klep′s
place
Thru
the
hard
time
sayin
prayers
committin
crimes
Sick
minds
don't
care,
rockin
parties
from
front
to
rear
Brains
engulfed
by
ferocious???
Runnin
up
on
Big
wit
Lex
wit
nappies
doused
with
chloroforms
Livin
in
a
world
where
you
do
what
you
must
If
preachers
be
robbin
niggas
who
the
fuck
can
you
trust?
1 Get Money
2 Excuse Me
3 Player's Anthem
4 Intro
5 White Chalk
6 Realm of Junior M.A.F.I.A.
7 I Need You Tonight
8 I've Been...
9 Crazaay
10 Back Stabbers
11 Shot!
12 Lyrical Wizardry
13 Oh My Lord
14 Murder Onze
15 Outro
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