King Fantastic - The Lost Art Of k**ing lyrics

[Verse 1: k**er Reese One] Say buddy you in my lane You backing up the game, you lame, you want fame I can give it to you daddy I ain't took my meds for weeks and I am feeling f**ing batty So if I put the tip of this fifth to your dick-s**ing lips And I give you the whole clip Then we both get what we want You get on the front page and I get one less chump I encourage all frogs to jump I heard they taste like chicken, and my b**hes in the kitchen With a pot of hot grease, and a couple side dishes Go figure no meat Slice this n***a up so we can eat k**er Reese is on the raps, troublemakers on the beats You dudes be talking so street And that talk be sounding tough until you gotta talk to me The authentic is off limits You don't talk to the truth if you talking about gimmicks I am the game, I'm not in it That means fifteen years not fifteen minutes, n***a [Hook] Let's cheer for the bad guy Clap when he get away, live to k** another day Here's a toast to the cutthroats n***as who ain't on it unless they don't mind gun smoke To my life-time criminals, remind 'em what fear is, we tired of that weird sh** And if you feeling how I'm feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of k**in' [Verse 2: k**er Reese One] They call me Reese the Uno, the sumo Used to push d, like kumo You know I'm the realest n***a to do this Got a crew of real spitters that'll murder this new sh** I encourage LA to stay away from the techno pop of the day, that sh** is gay The good ol' years I talk about Is when the loud mouth n***as still got stomped out Now everybody so pa**ive agressive You get locked up for teaching n***as a lesson But there's only so much testin' I can take before I break and I expose my weapon I'm out here LA reppin' Last of the heathens, dark heart still beatin' I'm on the west side, geekin' This is the turf that I stick my cleats in [Hook]