Diabolic, Buttatones, Maggie Burnz - Dirty letra (lyrics)

Um, have you ever felt, like, you're
Y'know dirty? The dirtiest
Get dirty! Dirty bastard
What a dirty, filthy mind you've got

As God rested and the seventh day passed
I had props
I'm the reason they keep heaven's
Gate latched and padlocked
I share the same genetic
Trait's as a Sasquatch
And secret agents from the
NSA hacking laptops you can check my resume
Tracked through back blocks
Where Dope heads were kids let 'em
Play catch with crack rocks
I levitate to levels way past the last flock
My mental state kept in a
Plane crasher's black box
Way back at Tab's spot
With his older brother met my homie Butta
Sixteen years we know each other
Street shit, sip these beers and roll another
Each hit makes the spit scream fear
The odor from us
Yo motherfucker, 'Tones is Butta
My flow is gutter
The hoes will love us so much
They poke holes in rubbers yo 'Bolic
(What up?) I see people
Like your album covers
(Why's that?) They front never
Shows true colors
Rocking clothes outta dumpsters spitting
Dope on the stage
Rolling dutches by the hundreds
Blowing smoke in your face
Bring the flavor on tracks
But that's only a taste
'Cuz when you see me live

I probably stomp a hole in the place
Grabbing bitches by the brains
Getting brains with my blunt lit
Known to only fuck with sluts
That suck dick in public
Repulsive, self-destructive, repugnant
Words are offensive, verses get censored
But fuck it yeah, fuck it out in Suffolk
I'm son of Jarell
Summoned from hell, puffing an L
Under a spell
I do my thing, king of the jungle
Hunting gazelles
On tour while chicks FaceTime
Touching themselves (Disgusting) What else?
Not courteous, arrogant, obnoxious
Impervious
Wordsmith, every verse spit muderous, ha, ha
You now fucking with the dirtiest

This that New York shit
That fucking raw shit

Yo I used to hop fences, running from cops
I hid dubs in my sock
They were 'bucking on shots
On the block cyphering
For the love of Hip-Hop
Naturally I, still got in dutches and pot
Up in the spot, puffing
Bumping rum and Ciroc record spinning
Reminiscing of the stuff you forgot
On some other shit, blunt is lit
Chugging some scotch 'Til the day I die as
Part of a government plot nothing but props
Constantly avoiding your daps
That golden sound hold it down
Like the noise in the back
Mark my words, just like my voice in the wax
Run up on the radio and
I'm destroying your tracks
Enjoying the fact I make a
Living spitting these rhymes
Outside the box
Like the coach giving me signs
The epitome, I don't need the industry shine
Real talk, other rappers be habitually lying
(Committing these crimes) Nah
They be copping a plea
(And that's why these motherfuckers)
Ain't rocking with me
Provocatively, mock an MC
For talking 'bout his Glock and his 'V
Cheddar Bob, shot in the knee

This that New York shit
That fucking raw shit