Cage (DE) - p**y, Money, and War lyrics

Ck one, tell ya mum this sh**s done, Got a brand new album for a f**ed up son. Her daughter gettin f**ed, like I give a sh** tricker Go eat that acid off'a them explicit warning stickers. Lickin tha cd, askin ya mum to buy it While I'm gagging honey, in the hyatt with my dick to keep her quiet "Room service..." f** that! Assume Nervous.. break this b**h a** off a bruised purpose in and out throw a fist in the route this b**h has waste management cuz I piss in her mouth match made of guiness for forty five minutes then I'm breakin my foot off her a** for the finish look dingy and fendy but trendy millenium Ted Bundy lookin all friendly at Wendy's cuz it's time to eat and I'll f** you up I ain't them rhymin' geeks chorus: We want p**y, money and I'm ready for war Already I'm tore still I'm gettin head from your who*e bring the fun on don't be the we put a gun on promoters that don't gimmie our dough are gettin' swung on (x2) I can't help that your wife likes s** and the violence got knives to her head while I paint eyelids then cut my ear off Smirnoff get the dead deer off then have that b**h get Lon Ser off then we laugh about it at whatever clubs poppin' and blow this sh** up with all the who*es and thugs lockin' make it a point to then break in the joint spend a clip on cult members outside waitin' to join I'm gettin' this money I don't care how it look if I pick up both arms you're watchin' a coward cook riddled with lead d-cup nipple tip of the egg twelve four watchin cops itchin their head sippin' grey goose with a trey deuce on this kid that runnin' this dough and I'm like 'lay loose' don't have your mom's be like 'that's my boy' they'll sign the papers to have your corpse destroyed chorus you better got rocks to fling or glocks to ping f** around and got Cage doin' obnoxious things now it's four AM where your kids at Larry Clarke's crib with Copywrite next to where the PTA live went to see Bully not for my two songs maybe up cameo with Bijou Phillips lady up this time around crazy I'm slicin shrunk monkeys used to pistol whip til Shady made it look p**y tryin' to dissect words I write only found a napkin in the diner for the verse I wrote last night so don't pick up bread crumbs like this old b**h sittin' shoddy in the NIS gun you get the point like your b**h do I punch through the planet like when PCP hits you watch me shake up these little primaddonas cuttin' off their backpacks like Mad Cow Llama chorus