Mickey Factz, CyHi, eLZhi - Hayworth lyrics

Yeah, they see me in them 25th letters
All they do is why can't he get better
Of course over time
But that's an extra quarter
$125 if you caught it you a scorer
Tom Brady aura, Patriot created
Now I want my quarter back
Hurry with the payment
Your wifey on my balls till
They both got deflated
The writings on the wall Stevie saw
It when he sang it
Ribbon in the sky, tie it to a cloud
This gifted nigga fly like a
Pigeon when it glides
Searching for the present like your
Listen for the time
And it's all wrapped when
I'm fitting it inside
Morikami paintings you can see
Them in the entrance
I be getting faded fireball is my apprentice
Metaphors I live by my nigga
Lupe get the credit
On top of that they can't equal facts
Tower over niggas
Tell me who want a piece of that?
Leaning back, Morgan Freeman rap
Yeah you see the bat
Without that Michael Keaton cat, Y-3
Bring it back this is how it go
Shit is different on me now you know
Spend a little time doing me on the low
Now they got me feeling like the GOAT
Like whoa, I'm the best
I tell my mirror everyday
Little homie I'm the best
Now these haters feel some kind of way
Cause, I got them things on

El, let me begin like this i gets deep
Motor bike cyclists
That was written in blood, type-0
No misspelling
I got the mannerisms of a man of wisdom
Rolling up a gram of ism
Busting off the brain like an aneurysm
Bet I officially win we'll put up paper
But y'all scared to pinpoint when
To pencil me in your schedule is clear that
My legible handwriting
Is groundbreaking like Super Saiyans
Fighting super friends and titans
Why would you sleep on my position in rap
Cause if those listeners kept staring
How I'm missing a step
Supplying lines like I'm kilo flipping
Don’t let me get in your head
Stick out my foot and have your ego tripping
Those pursuit of leaves mummified
And should get they piece from a pie
That's just food for thought


Y-3, I'm talking Jeremy Scott
Yohji Yamamoto cause Yeezy's barely in stock
My pops ain't gone bury me, boy
I'ma bury my pops before I bury the hatchet
I rather bury the Glock
She said I never smoke
Well, I got to cherry the pop
I got that mary jane
I smoke the hairiest pot
What if Mary Magdalene had a
Bloody mary with a virgin on December 25th
While bumping Mary J blige
And Miss Mary Mack got on this little lamb
Would you still say Merry Christmas
If Joseph married the thot? Lord have mercy
You ain't heard no bars as sweet as this
Lord have Hershey's
My birthday is the only other
Day supposed to have Turkish
Kirkwood is the new Mexico
And I ain't talking Albuquerque
Huh, boy, you gone have to murk 'em
I done swam through deeper waters
This shit ain't half as murky
My clip pack a thirty
Can't let you bastards hurt me
You gone need the same stitches
They put the name on the back of jerseys with
God please, forgive 'em
For shooting at the clergy
And my bitch kill every event
Jackie Joyner-Kersee, motherfucker