Spirit Cookin

Cocked the handle back with one thumb
 The Porsche Panamera look like black bumble gum
 Bum, send you up, you can touch the sun
 Bust it up to past loved ones all you want
 I've been down this long road more than once
 I had to lawnmower over the brush
 It's an ongoing fuss
 War with daddy the whore's water bust
 Squeeze the pump, slump the water buff
 This story's sort of rough, like, 'Snow on the Bluff'
 You all fluff, I'm built Ford tough
 Squashed you like a water bug (roach)
 Cold world, should've worn warmed gloves
 Stronger drugs 'cause there is more to come
 My name tastes like pork on a hater tongue
 My Uzi weigh a ton
 My jewelry weigh a bunch, son
 I'm sitting on a bunch of junk like Sanford and Son
 I'm watching Tommy Buns on a Samsung
 Smoke from the handgun cause cancer on the lung
 Ten thousand grand, my Spanish plug with the hair plugs
 Sound like music to my eardrums, fuck
 You already know, the fuck else
 It's me
 When I threw the rifle in the river
 It looks like Bol Bol was diving in the river
 All this Spanish champagne drowning up my liver
 Money, I can't take it to the grave with me
 Spot me on the beach in a strange Jeep
 My girl get busy like Zhang Weili
 You're better off with dengue fever
 I'm placed first in a hundred-meter medley
 Thirty xanny bars couldn't settle me
 I put a gold machete on a baby registry
 Allegedly, it's time to check eligibly
 Keep the bow and arrow right next to me on a leather seat
 For any man that want to test me, you lose a testis
 And I wear it as an earring while I jet ski
 Control the range like I got seven hands
 Glance in the mirror look like John Cougar Mellencamp, god-damn
 It's just a heart throb
 Turn key, activate the car bomb
 Take your head off like Balrog
 Coming soon to a theater near you
 Mr. Baklava, starring in a drama called, 'Crocodile Soup'