Ice Man

[Verse 1] The crowd explode when I spit fire ‘Cause one line’ll set ‘em off like a trip wire A sick cypher, pit fighters in a minefield You dick riders, watch your step wearing high heels You quite ill? Well I’m a word doctor Bully raps—I’ll put these nerds in a Hurt Locker Y’all worth not a [?] cubic zirconia No-vision-having-ass niggas—pupils getting cornea I gotta school ‘em, put the truth in they formula Open up they eyes with they view on the coroner Glock coma, pop culture. Moody euphoria This is murder music—I’mma shoot up this orchestra I kill the sound, boy. Got to call me Phil Spector I’m still respected in this game like Bill Withers So step aside. Yo, my clan be some real niggas And we don’t recognize your brand like Hilfiger [Hook] We doing numbers in this game—y’all should know that We really hungry in this game—never low-fat We keep gunning ‘til we reign—it’s a known fact So here, hold that. Here, here, hold that I’m moving forward with my fans—can’t go back I see the future of these plans, light a dough stack And y’all ain’t doing this, son, ‘cause y’all so whack So here, hold that. Yea, killa, hold that [Verse 2] Killa say he got hands, but his style’s weak and He ain’t touchin’ nothin’, shadow puppet with a violent streak He a cyber G. He ain’t the type to beef His keypad is his speed bag ‘cause he type his beef So many haters, I’m Al Qaeda to these silent sheep Body slam a Wacka Flocka fan like an Iron Sheik I ain’t even tryna speak ‘Cause son be lying through his teeth ‘til he see his teeth flying like [?] I’m bucking at ‘em and I’m wiling for these papers [?] As-salamu alaykum or get silenced with the fader and these [?] What comes from the mouth of these haters Well, y’all can eat a cock… roach Tyler the Creators And when they see me, they don’t say shit Softer than Neo—I’mma beat ‘em out this Matrix Freaking Soulja Boy, son got me so annoyed Image real shaky like a motherfucking Polaroid [Hook] We doing numbers in this game—y’all should know that We really hungry in this game—never low-fat We keep gunning ‘til we reign—it’s a known fact So here, hold that. Here, here, hold that I’m moving forward with my fans—can’t go back I see the future of these plans, light a dough stack And y’all ain’t doing this, son, ‘cause y’all so whack So here, hold that. Yea, killa, hold that [Verse 3] I’m too fast for these tracks, so I’m steady growing I’m running laps around these haters like Jesse Owens These athletes is half-sleep like melatonin I’m weight up like a 747 Boeing They try ta blacken the skies like chem trails ‘Cause they don’t wanna see black in the skies like the Red Tails My team fly, ‘bout to blow like Osama folk A [union?] bomber when it’s time to push the envelope A new man, [?] girl boxing go postal I fed your ex-girl cock—she call my [?] Open mic with this overnight delivery My skills ill and kill like the packages—y’all sick of me Y’all silly genre is comparable to Willy Wonka A Milonakis. We militants outta helicopters You useless like Obama with no teleprompter This murder music turn the booth to hotel Rwanda