Samsquanch - My Hitta lyrics

[Verse 1] I put my homies over b**hes But it's business over all Got more bars than a prison I should sentence most of y'all I k** 'em with every sentence, dawg It isn't close to call You think you can write with me Well, listen bro, you're wrong, man I rip the flow so hard, like I'm tearing up carpet I dare you to start sh** A terrorist, the American target Man, I'm cooking up rappers Prepare 'em in garnish I mean, look at these rappers Like I'm staring at garbage Man I shook up these rappers And you tickling my last nerve I'm jittery off ritalin Riddling the rap verse I do it big, I'm k**ing 'em With your little a** stature Get a dime half naked Smoke a nickel bag after She taste my rainbow I got that Skittle bag swagger Trying to keep it real, in fact Cause I'm a really bad actor I'm putting Grammies over Oscars Getting money, keep it in the family like we're mobsters Damn it, I'm a monster My grammar and my posture is just outstanding I'm demanding him a sponsor For what I'm planning The planet's what I'll conquer sh** can get extra ugly The Phantom of the Opera You ever touch me Then man it's gonna cost you I'm a doctor, if you claim you're sick Have a saying, Oh God, you turned into a atheist Take a dab, now I'm faded, gone Brain's 86 Can't wait til they hate me And they see me push that Mercededes whip My teachers think I'm just too lazy They hand me the paper I'm just like, "f** you, pay me." Chasing this paper is what I must do, daily Won't stop me, I run through This one's too crazy to cope with Give her the wee-wee Boy, she so french She pa**ed up your french fry for my french toast stick Haha, and I don't even pour syrup on 'em Got a lot of drive and liquor in me I'm swerving on 'em