Lyrics Ron Burgundy (feat. Flukey, Goldie & Squeegie Oblong) - Tyrone Briggs
Ron
Burgundy,
uh
How
I
tell
a
vision
Before
Bob
could
lay
down
the
drums,
this
shit
was
finished
Lyrically
I'm
Fei
Long,
it's
fire
when
I
kick
it
Don't
share
my
moves
with
no
one,
no
Ryu
to
my
kinship
You
feel
me
lawd
It
ain't
nothing
to
rap
to
me
Nothing
wack,
or
average,
it's
either
heat
or
a
masterpiece
Sample
chopped
by
Fresh,
he
threw
the
pass
to
me
With
slaps
hard
enough
to
get
us
banned
from
an
academy
Keep
my
wife's
name
out
you're
fucking
mouth
Daylight
savings,
you'll
see
the
rise
when
son
come
out
Can
out
lap
them
without
passing
the
Paton
This
shit
is
remote
learning,
I'm
in
a
class
on
my
own
Don't
compare
me
to
dudes
that
wear
a
thousand
dollar
belts
But
won't
invest
a
hundred
dollars
in
they
self
And
wonder
why
they
fan
base
in
they
hometown
is
often
doing
awful
Nigga
nobody
gone
support
you
until
you
support
you
Stupid
Like
we
always
do
about
this
time
Uh
Flukey
the
illest
These
dudes
beginners
The
rest
of
them
just
pretenders
dude
They
couldn't
fit
my
tennis
shoes
I
run
with
niggas
they
in
the
room
then
you
hid
you
jewels
We
different
dudes
if
we
say
we
did
it
we
did
it
too
Nigga,
Flu
too
cool
for
you
dudes
to
ridicule
Tell
the
truth
admit
Ya'll
niggas
pick
and
choose
And
fabricate
your
truth
when
you
spit
so
you
can
fit
in
crews
Than
your
whole
diction
a
contradiction
dude
Somebody
tell
Bobby
this
beat
a
body
Body
slamming
rappers,
running
my
city,
Jesse
The
Body
All
these
rappers
claiming
they
king
but
I
see
no
body
First
nigga
screaming
my
name
then
I
see
a
body
We'll
see
about
it,
but
see
I
thought
I
told
ya'll
not
to
fuck
with
me
I
thought
I
told
these
niggas
we
spit
buck
fifties
On
the
low
I
know
all
ya'll
niggas
look
up
to
me
That's
not
you
dude
if
he
said
that
you
could
keep
up
with
me
I
said
what
I
said
I
saw
crunch
time
he
said
it's
crunch
time
He
took
a
little
sabbatical,
let
his
funds
climb
I
remember
it
vividly
ducking
one
time
Now
we
trapping
immaculate
on
the
front
line
Don't
bother
Miss
Carter,
she
mad
The
head
good,
she
ski
free
cause
she
bad
Pop
tags
and
drop
bags
and
we
brag
No
gun
flashing,
freeze
tag
cause
we
dads
I
see
ya
copping
shit
that
we
had
I
hear
ya
popping
shit
like
he
mad
I'm
on
a
thousand,
I
brought
the
pounds
in
The
kilo
is
a
thousand
grams
provide
the
housing
Look
brother
that's
word
to
Lu's
mother
I
been
inside
of
the
poom
poom
and
you
love
her
Door
banging
like
boom
boom,
it's
who
other
None
other,
Cobain
I
brung
butter
Niggas
be
at
these
shows
rocking
they
sisters
clothes
thinking
they
next
up
You
call
this
shit
local
I
call
it
check
cuts
Bitch
I'll
sign
your
pity
on
the
runny
kind
Sada
tay
Pull
a
chester
bean
screaming
help
police
Twisted
on
harbor
day
Black
Jesus
on
the
platform
Last
of
the
mohegans
Cause
real
nigga
season
is
rare
From
the
era
of
the
schemers
Jean
shorts
on
like
I'm
the
black
John
Cena
You
niggas
ain't
seeing
the
flesh
There's
no
way
you
could
connect
to
spirit
Shut
down
the
play
with
a
pass
interference
Son
I
got
love
for
Tyrone
briggs
But
that
ugly
motherfucker
owes
me
bread
Cause
I
wrote
half
of
Tyrone
shit
On
my
Reggie
I'll
be
that
My
nickname
is
fuck
you
bitch
Cause
all
the
hoes
know
that
he
ain't
shit
Turn
you
album
to
a
weed
tray
My
shit
spins
on
Shade
45
I
got
nudes
blackmailing
the
DJs
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