Genre of Spice Talk lyrics

[Intro: KrispyLife Kidd & RMC Mike]
Alright
KrispyLife, n*gga, it's with a K, dumbass
b*tch
Ghetto Boyz, n*gga, free Rio (Lorenz, don't stop)

[Verse 1: KrispyLife Kidd]
He live with his granny, so we still gon' shoot it up
Bullet hit her oxygen tank, we done blew it up
I just ate a bad Perc' and I threw it up
Where your b*tch at? She in the room with it tooted up
Mike just took one of my Percs, he do too much
Bro don't wanna ride with me 'cause I shoot too much
Every time you say some lame sh*t, you lose two sl*ts
Me and Mike just matched two fours, y'all got a deuce of what?

[Verse 2: RMC Mike]
f*ck the b*tch for twenty-six minutes, then throw the deuces up
I'm tryna ball, you tryna ball too, you wanna hoop or what?
No, I can't tell you what I got up in my stash, but I'm super up
Damn, Kidd, I'm finna go to jail, I shot an Uber up
Auntie can't buy no dope from me, she don't oot enough
Ooh, b*tch got a pink pus*y on her, but got a doo-doo butt
Catch his ass lackin' right on Mackin, call Doodlebug
How the f*ck you mad at my success and you don't do enough?
[Verse 3: KrispyLife Kidd & RMC Mike]
Made D-Boy nervous rappin' with the strap out
Let off a hundred-fifty shots, made him back down
I just beat a b*tch back and made her tap out
I just beat a b*tch back and blew her back out
I'm shootin' this b*tch from deep, I think— yeah, f*ck that
Nah, Kidd, I'm finna shoot this b*tch from deep, I'm Jerry Stackhouse
Drop me off around the corner, I got they whole block mapped out
I think he died from shootin' dice, I guess he crapped out
Damn, who want beef with us?
I'm in the club crispy as hell with a fully tucked
Copped a new watch, it's not plain, this b*tch fully bust
Caught dog with his pants down, now he truly f*cked
Man, I don't like switches, but got a K problem
He get me pints once a month, I got a straight doctor
Ours called sh*t-talkin', y'all got a straight genre
Money long as hell, we ain't never havin' pape' problems
I just got twelve pints from a fake doctor
I'm finna give them b*tches straight to Stan
Gave a n*gga six bars for an eight of red
I won't pay for the pus*y, but I'll pay for head
Damn, my oldhead just shoot this b*tch, he LeBron James
Slick talker, I'll take your b*tch, Danny Fontaine
Put these clippers to your head, that's a wild fade
Backdoor to hit my n*gga b*tch, that's a foul play
I put my nuts all in her cream, that's a parfait
Meet a b*tch and play mind games like an arcade
Nah, meet a b*tch and hit her in the car, this a car date
Spin a block in an old Lincoln, this a Mark VIII
Nah, Mike, the chop long as f*ck like a Mark VIII
Nah, bro, this Audi fast as f*ck, this an R8
Left a stink bomb in his car, hoo
Left a stink bomb in his whip, now the car stink
I think I just drunk some cut, now all my farts stink
He pulled up in a V6, I think his car fake
Left so much money on the floor, we need a yard rake
We gotta rake it up
Two thirty clips looked it better, so I taped 'em up
We the hottest in our city, so they hate on us
I just re-rocked the bag with some angel dust
n*ggas playin' like some little kids, get his Lego crushed
[Verse 4: KrispyLife Kidd]
Yeah
I just poured another twelve in a Faygo Crush
I'll never show no love, n*ggas hate too much
b*tch seen my account like, "Kidd, how you make so much?"
Hit his head with a hollow and make his bagel crunch
Wockhardt, Tris, I can make your punch
Made 60K in one weekend, I can't make this up
Hit him one time and he died, that's a fatal punch

[Outro: KrispyLife Kidd]
b*tch
And that wasn't Mike either
Yeah
RMC sh*t, KrispyLife sh*t
Free Rio, n*gga, free the main bird
b*tch