CyHi The Prynce, Joell Ortiz, Jarren Benton | MULA 2015 lyrics

[Verse 1: Jarren Benton]
Yeah
Jarren Benton
What's up y'all, how the f*ck y'all feeling?
Yeah, I hope I don't offend nobody with this sh*t man
Check it out
Yeah

I used to be broke as f*ck, whipping a Honda Accord with 2 spinners
di*k stayed between your b*tch's dress, no Bruce Jenner
Igniting crack pipes with flames from butane
b*tches used to play me to the left, said I was 'too strange'
Now I'm getting head from Cali hoes and smoking new strains
Ran a couple trains on foreign b*tches out in Ukraine
Trying to be an honorary member of Wu-Tang
But I'm throwed off like Uday and Qusay Hussein
f*ck up your future
I'll shoot the Ruger through your Uber
I sift through cow manure for shrooms, out his medulla
I'll sit in the car get head while I listen to Gwar
I'll punch through your f*cking chest and kick my leg through your heart
The illest lyricist, smack a rapper for spitting gibberish
Hopsin never take me in public cause I'm too n*ggerish
Ay, f*ck the police with Eric Garner's dead di*k
I need meds quick, snapping necks like breadsticks
These new rappers a bunch of faggots and f*ck boys
Ay, I bet you these n*ggas f*ck boys
Fake thugs, Gustos, CB4
I talked to 'Pac with a Ouija board, Hail Mary
Ay tell that b*tch to shut the f*ck up when the song play
Dyslexic; throw up gang signs the wrong way
And drugs got me having 'out of body's
I kill a rapper, drop the corpse off in Abu Dhabi
I'm doing donuts on a Kawasaki
I'm with your b*tch sipping sour sake
[wtf happened here?]
Ay n*gga try me I kill you and f*cking hide the body
I date old white b*tches that do mal-Pilates
Uh, Tech'll blow you to Reese's Pieces
Put you on a Stairway to Heaven and have you meeting Jesus
Funk Volume the squad, salute to my n*gga, getting cake
Catch a b*tch n*gga and snuff him like Diddy did Drake
Benton! We in this b*tch!
[Verse 2: CyHi Da Prynce]
Yuh... LA y'all ready?! Okay
Huh
I see you n*gga's green, night goggles
I'm a Activis, I belong in a Sprite bottle
I write novels, the last testament
Thou said to Prynce, "you won't find these verses in Christ's Bible"
My pistol ain't got no body like a white model
I don't listen to rap n*gga cause I like gospel
I grew up with some Night Riders; David Hassellhoff
Who won't stop rapping white; Asher Roth
Involved with albatross at the Travel Lodge
n*ggas try to sabotage a n*gga catalogue
You sheep ain't herd; my wolves will knock the cattle off
Leave your whole neighborhood wet; it's raining cats and dogs
The rest of the survivors to the casa
On tour with nothing but riders on my rider
Whoever knew Duna was the driver of that Sonata
That I would have so much truth inside my saliva
n*ggas throwing shade in my face, just like this visor
So I got some partners that're killers so I advise ya
Not to f*ck with young Elijah, cause my guys'll
Throw the body in the trunk and lake 'em like As-salamu
Huh, we the saviors of our genre
Huh, to bring the youth to the truth, is our honor
From youngsters out in Ghana reliving Hotel Rwanda
I can't sleep cause there's kids with nowhere to slumber
We should give Nobels to mommas and women who held us under
I know my momma worry, from my past of life's crimes
I still use a notepad when I'm writing my rhymes
Cause literally, I put my life on the line
I'm out this b*tch
[Verse 3: Joell Ortiz]
Team Backpack, What's up?!
Yaowa
I wrote this last night in my bed
Cause they've been sleeping on me people said
Funny cause I could do this standing on my head
I can't stand y'all like 2 bad prosthetic legs
Something like an OG, just a newer version of the old me
Hungrier than I was back in '03
Got a little change, but I ain't changed, n*ggas know me
But the Rollie do shine while I'm holding up an O.E
This thing here locked, you would think Joell a Rasta
These n*ggas queer, they career's on a teleprompter
Bunch of gimmicks, motherf*ckers couldn't tell a chopper
From a fifth, cause when I said that, they thought helicopter
I'm tired of looking left and right. We made a left, right?
And now I feel like everything that's left ain't right
If you a up and coming rapper, here's the best advice
Chill out, I'm running the show without a extra mic
I'm telling you God spoke to me
He said "little man, listen closely, I gave you most of me
Therefore you're way more than man's supposed to be
Hopefully you reach supreme Yaowa" I said, "hopefully!"
Every track is hard
I'll single-handedly crack your squad in half for having average bars
What's a battle scar?
I'm unscathed, I should smash guitars
On your bum waves, or tangle your dumb braids for how trash you are
n*ggas probably like, "Ortiz spazzing" it's just me rapping
In a rush, I got a mean bad one waiting on me in the meat packing
I'm bringing keys to the dream
In case I'm the key to her dreams and she need me packing
I been listening to the streets yapping
Putting Gucci stickers on my laptop, you know, G-Macking
See skill is something you'll never see me lacking
That's a selfie in church clothes, picture me slacking
I tried to tell y'all dumbasses
In '07 to make these n*ggas step on they white sunglasses
Now we turning to Smurf Village, y'all let it
But Gargamel's been doing barbell presses
I'll stomp your little movement, crush your little cave
Turn your wave into a ripple in a puddle near your grave
I know the real you, the real you, so behave
Without the lies and cameras you don't want that action backstage
I'm on my real new york sh*t, four-fifth careful where you walk sh*t
Cause you could turn chalk next to dog sh*t
Where I'm from we're awkward, look Khalid, a coffin
Spitting up your organs on your way to being corpses
Every other day I stood around some sh*t that'd make you nauseous
Buck 50, son cheek falling while he talking
Dead woman walking, wish I saw the class portrait
Shorty used to be bad that dope made her a monster
Y'all n*ggas know, y'all n*ggas whack rap
I put this cypher in my knapsack, n*gga this Team Backpack