Текст песни Piñata - Madlib , Freddie Gibbs , Domo Genesis , Casey Veggies , Sulaiman , Meechy Darko , G-Wiz , Mac Miller

Live like 9-5, I rhyme and come alive
My grind divides fine through my divine eyes
It's prime time, you wish you could buy time, but it's my time
Thoughts against I, blasphemy, it's like a vice crime
I roll 'em thick and I ignite mines
I don't even get high, I just get equally back in my right mind
I'm getting lethal with these nice lines
Creeping through your speakers
Catch you sleeping like a thief of in the nighttime
Young Doms, none of you niggas correspond, bitch
Kick the fuck out of the track on some Jean-Claude shit
Get the fuck out of the streets, nigga, I bomb shit
Shit ain't all good no more, y'all on your con shit
The fuck is your conscience? Testing me is nonsense
The whole city is mine, I'm the best up in my conference
Ain't feeling me, fine, ain't gotta listen to my shit
You can hear about me from the critics all on my dick

Bitch, I've been thugging since the motherfucking Ten Speed
Redbone on my handlebars, I like my bitches mixed breeds
Feel the Philly tighten with a 20 sack of stress weed
Educated, at the stove I'm working recipes
Reputation say I'm robbing just for recreation
Revive my enemy with gun-to-mouth resuscitation
Can't wait to this pussy nigga pay me, I'm impatient
Let's go kick in their door and strip them naked, leave 'em stinking
No witness, no weapon, my nigga, the case is over
The reaper snatched 'em, closed casket, his family needs a closure
And Moses had ten commandments, Huey had ten points
Won't see my homie for ten, dropped him off at the joint
Staring at my future in my rear-view
Family cried some tears, I got some years, it ain't no issue
Mama with the tissue
Saw her breaking down, she just might cry a river
Murder one, she can't believe she raised that type of nigga

I tried to do right, but it only got your boy fucked in the game
So I changed my mind, now I'm back on this grind
Trying to get this change
Niggas hate to see me getting it
Travelling packs with a red dot
Boy, it ain't your knot, trying to get what you got
When the rain and the pain gon' stop
Standing on the porch early, no shoes, selling blow in my socks
And I was watching for the ghetto bird
Ain't got no money for college
So all I know is how to sack and how to serve
I be damned if I miss another lick for the chips
Got me stacking, almost splurging on weed, syrup and whips
Niggas around my way be loving it
I'm Cadillac'ing, blowing good alligators with the belts to match
I got an ounce with an ounce to match, bust it down, get back
Hopefully maybe get the clique out the trap
I need dough like a bread baker (Amen)
24/7, got ready on the turf, player
All day

Make 'em hop in the new coupe
Niggas been winning, that ain't nothing new
Forgive me for the sinning that they be doing in this business
Not using their words to express truth
Out in the streets with a screw loose
On the Westside I got the juice
Just tell me what you trying to do
She loving the crew and ain't fucking with you
I go where the hood niggas get into it
I go where the bad girls go shop
Every window tinted but the rooftop
That money I'll just spend it to get you shot
Can they be hating, they got no reason
Right where they got me, the place I Delete 'em
We kicking on weaklings just for all of their secrets
I can't believe the shit that I'm seeing
I'm hearing the words, doing my reading, it's really absurd
Not enough leaders, the shit that they feed you, it's just what you eating
They call me young Veggies, I make it go green
I smash in all your teeth, the fuck is you saying?
You got the candy's, the niggas is spraying
To get away and take over the land, yeah

My mind on capital, I'm not just rapping, dude
I'm out to speak actual factual, watch how a master moves
You ball a fist what that gon do
I'm from a city clapping fools
You off the tit and lacking while watching me fashion stools
Shitting styles, you never had a hot line that I didn't dial
Little princes always trying to fit a bigger crown
But don't forget I sit amidst some seasoned gents
Them bitches knowing he a pimp ain't even need to read the blimp
It was a good day, good day to O'Shea
A death certificate for anyone who lay in my way
You best revisit all the tombstones that lay in my wake
Me being knowledge, be honest
You seen the prophet get sacrificed by the opps
It get ratchet when ratchets out and they firing
Residue on piñatas, wonder what's up inside of 'em
It's sure ain't no Vicodin cause it up and excited 'em
But they ain't get high enough, if you ain't succeed, nigga
Buy again then try again

It's the irrational type of nigga to John Madden tackle you
Steal your car keys and crash your coupe in the botanical
Wrap you with shackles, tangle you, pull from ever angle, dismantle you
Watch your blood mixed with mud and stain the gravel too
Grab and shoot, rib cage open like a parachute
Close range, switchblade, poke 'em if it's personal
Blood stains, gold fangs, mask on, no traits
Murder one, closed case, stolen whip, no plates
Half a body in the trunk, go to prison, no way
Speed off the Brooklyn Bridge before I catch a cold case
Realize I'm the voice for those who do not have a voice
So I voice my fucking voice, I don't have a fucking choice
Cold blooded, leave some niggas, well I hope you got insurance
Shotgun and shorty lift 'em like the potent in my joint
Barrels smoking like Red Auerbach
Still can't believe I'm getting fed on rap
I don't know what's louder, the pack or the gat

My endorphins are morphin', absorbin' energy
Original copy, A Tale of Two Cities gets read to me
Reading Emerson novels, eating some Belgian waffles
Some powder go up my nostrils, my dick going down her tonsils
What's up? Play with an abacus, I've been stressing like Catholics
That's the shit, a bit of that happiness in my cup
This generation corrupt, these people brainwashed with evil
My music is more cerebral, exploring just what you need to
So this your exodus, Church of the Methodist
Beating up the pussy, have her screaming like a exorcist
(*scream sample*)
Absorb it through your pores, the Lord with horns, a world war
Whores are more hors d'oeuvre when it's a world tour
O'Doyle rules