[Starts at 00:14]
A'ight, 6 minutes?
Let's go…
K-I-DD D-A L-E-G-E-N-D/
Legendary when I speak/
Hereditary, the throne is what I bleed/
Only one of us gon' make it in this door, you or me?/
Take a shovel to your temple, make scrambled eggs outcha meat/
Get it poppin' more than poppy seeds, then wash away; make it neat/
This be the cleanest getaway since Black Monday in '03/
I mean '05; pardon me, kind of hard to believe/
It's been 5 years since I began chopping with the guillotine/
Heads get severed, fall off into the abyss, the netherrealm I mean/
Help me plea insanity, for the sake of humanity/
Or anybody left on this planet that recognizes a beast/
An eater of words, worlds, dictionaries, and galaxies/
Like a universal switch on a keyboard, paradigm shift/
I just, devour rappers as a whole then self-Heimlich/
Guerrero, Jack, and Hannibal; I'm fiendin' for some flesh to rip/
Yet again, I believe in being self-preserved to eat at will/
Like Pursuit of Happyness, as if Chris Gardner didn't get a meal/
This is real, tis the season the reason I've come to k**/
Somewhat ill? All the way, full-on like I got the condom on – still/
I'm in that backpack group, with Maybach music, poppin' a pill/
Sorry, I'm just filled – jelly doughnut – with all types of emotions/
I describe my mindstate with emojicons; naw, I'm not jokin'/
Above the game right now in a device made for water; I'm floatin'/
Jerry Sloane, little bit of cologne, egg sandwich then I'm gone/
Everyday, I echo my name like I'm behind prison walls/
In a shallow and narrow hall, the fame I don't promote at all/
I don't condone male enhancement, women do that for us dawg/
If you can't get it up, that means you just sh** outta luck/
I look forward to pleasing women, that's the only way I give a f**/
What she say, do, and feel; she'll eventually give it up/
Lyrics loaded in a six-shooter, and the chamber never gets stuck/
Blow ya face off before you finish the sentence like, "Motherfu--" (BLAO!)/
Westside, or Northwest to be exact/
Dudes re-enacting everything they see on TV, one-mind track/
Full fracture, two-six or six-deuce, move captions/
'Cuz I turned them on my television, tryna catchup on the action/
Use ketchup on my sandwich, relish on my Manwich, mayo for tartar sauce/
If I continue to spill bars, Rap's the new Holocaust/
Whole bodies in the holes where bodies get dumped like ma** graves/
Pencils, pens, and microphones get trashed like a bad taste/
Spoiled milk, rotten eggs, dirty money, and filthy laundry, ayy/
Handstands for the ones that got the stick-up/
Kick game is weak but the flow is buried in cake son/
Not even talkin' 'bout money, I'm sayin' the flow is sweeter than cajun/
You should see how opposites attract when I magnify these raps/
Pencil, pen, nor keyboard is safe when I commence an attack/
Kidd DA Legend, tryin' to stick to facts/
Always keep it G when it comes to them stacks/
Funny, 'cuz that money I won't ever see/
n***as lookin' straight with two humps, that's the letter B/
Let it be, that I can see she want that 'D' like a graded paper/
With multiple errors, your E's like F's, you failed even greater/
G sh** is what you claim, but them Gators say you a hater/
Host the series as whole like a sitcom/
"How I Met Your Mother"'s in my favor/
I play the game and I've majored, in Jumbotronics/
Meaning I get the club shaking when they see the screenplay/
But the lyrics scream at the juxtaposers trynna take the place/
Of the forever king that reigns on 'em the wrath, that rains on 'em/
I pa**, like the J's over in my spot/
I k** like a hotshot, no golf but a hotspot/
No Wi-Fi, but I knock, over heads like the Domino Effect/
Just stay outta my blind spot, Lord knows who might be next/
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