Blood On The Wall

[Verse 1: Crooked I] It's a shortage of trill niggas so I'ma increase they birth rate To fill the future with real niggas I'm at the sperm bank A million Crooked's walking around when they turn eight Tell 'em before they biological father lived in a ? cake So niggas hate, is that your reason Louis Vuitton vest, it's your fall season I draw squeezing, you fall wheezing, your jaw bleeding The herk beeping, your shirt leaking, we all even The church peeking, trying to stop your momma from lifting your limp body I embody everything that got him bodied And if you kill me first I'ma rest in peace Wobble over in my grave when I know that you're next to me sleeping Yes indeed, murder's your destiny My homies ride for me and expect nothing less from me If it's us against the world the globe is the underdog And unless I get benched I'ma ball till my number's called Rappers say they only draw when a gun involved I draw attention when I'm spitting, I'm sonning y'all I draw a picture with writtens hanging on the wall From new rappers I got to meet to battle me happily, that'll be none at all Imagine a genius writing time travel theories across the chalk board Now imagine him being a Sophomore That's me or Prodigy, I should be on a golf course Talking offshore accounts instead of ducking law enforce-ment Doing a hundred cent in a bent riding Hiding behind your biting tent, oh you fancy huh? Rhetorical, not trying to ask me huh? Cause if you really knew my struggle you would ask me how Did I grow into a boss from a ashy child Better yet ask your bitch I make her cat meow Told y'all it's the Philippines, I'm Pacquiao Now, hit your boy with a Max B "ohh" Ohh and we out Not yet, I'm the lyrical inferno I'm the pinnacle eternal You got a series like me but it ain't identical, paternal I general my circle bizzerk with verbals A criminal with unlimited herbals who finna blow some purple Yeah hit the dank hard, drank hard Thank God for the bank card You snake frauds and you fake mobsters Fuck the whole world, you ain't COBsters C.O.B. Circle Gang, yeah we straight monsters Holla at a ghost writer when you on the West Get your bars up like a Schwarzenegger shoulder press If you slept on me, I guess you know the rest Long as you know your shit ain't old or less I'm bound to be epic like a MJ show Or Kool Herc in the front row of that MJ show 50.000 fans showing love to the architect I almost shed a tear cause my career ain't even started yet But make way for your favourite MC's MM 4, BE 3 and the Agent is Free #OKBYE One more thing (what's that?) Aye Cindy...Brandon wants to know if you would marry him I need to stay of twitter Tomorrow's my birthday So I had to get this out the way Cause I ain't gone know how to speak english