G-hirsty - T.r.u.e lyrics

I get no kick from champagne Their alcohol doesn't thrill me at all So tell me why shouldn't it be true? I get a kick out of brew There is only one beer left Rappers screaming all in our ears like we're deaf Tempt me, do a number on the label Eat up all their MC's and drink 'em under the table Like it's on me, put it on my tab, kid, however you get there Foot it, cab it, iron horse it, you leaving on your face forfeit I crush the mic hold it like the heat he might toss it Told him tell they stole it, he told her he lost it She told him get off it and a bunch other more sh** Getting money, DT's be getting no new leads It's like he eating watermelon, stay spitting new seeds It's the weed, give me some of what he's drooping off Soon as he wake up choking like it was whooping cough The group been soft, first hour at the open bar and their trooping off He went to go laugh and get some head by the side road She asked him to autograph her derriere, it read To wide load, this yard bird taste like fried toad Turned love villain take pride and code words Crooked eye mold nerd geek with a cold heart Probably still be speaking in rhymes as an old fart Study how to eat, to dine by the pizza guy No, he's not too fly to skeet in a skezzer eye And squeeze her thigh, maybe giver her curves a feel And the same way she feel it when she flow with nerves of steel They call him super when they need their back or plumbing fixed Powers only one left, the pack comes in six Whatever happened to two and three A hood tried to slide with four and five and got caught Like, what you doing G? Don't make 'em have to get cutting like truancy Matter fact not for nothing right now you and me Looser than a pair of Adidas, I hope you bought your spare tweeters MC's sound like cheerleaders Rapping and dancing like Red Head Kingpin Dude, can we do this thing again no matter how be blinging You do it for the smelly hubbies Seeds know what time it is like it's time for Telletubbies Few can do it, even fewer can sell it Take it from the dude who wears mask like a tarded helmet He plots shows like robberies In and out, one, two, three, no bodies please Run the cash and you won't get a wet sweatshirt The mic is the shootie, nobody move, nobody get hurt Bring heat, like the boy I'm going to war Came in the door and everybody on the floor A whole string of jobs like we are on tour Every night on the score coming to your corner store