A-Villa, Sean Price, Roc Marciano, Oh No - The Wild Bunch lyrics

I got the wild style
Always been a foul child
Represent to the fullest

Yo A-Villa we way illa
I'm like an uncaged gorilla
Bananas peeled the killa
What my pen will tell ya
It ain't Penn & Teller
The rain you will need Rihanna's umbrella
When it came it's like a
Cyclone or a hurricane
The perfect storm to integrate
You a fish bait
I urinate all over your state
Get it straight
I infiltrate from what I illustrate
The illest trait's now watch me illuminate
Across the globe ya'll ready know
I turn into that Gettysburg get a show
Yall get it from the get-go
When my clique blow it's like a fo-fo
Ya'll get low, hit the flo'
I'm high while I'm gettin' dough
Then I'll take ya ho to penetrate the hole
Thickest with the flow
Can't be touched with a 10 foot pole
No, you must not know who you fuckin' with
The last man standing, nigga we run this shit
Run ya shit our city motherfucker
I got that wild style, come fuck around
And get layed down
By the foulest child I'll spray 'em down

Cut to the chase
Bust up eighths amongst apes
Buttfuck your date 'til the rubber break
We duct taped and oven baked
Covered in snakes
Juggling weight where they blaze
Fuck a knuckle game
Slugs bang buckle your frame
Left you underweight
I let my nuts hang in my dungarees
Wanna-be g's wish to be seen in these jeans
The emblem on the specs read D & G
Killin' defeat leave with a Shiela E
Tender like veal meat
You hold your steel weak mothers still weep
I run up in freaks built like wildebeasts
Kill beats, MCs are grease-filled grief
The day that you get killed we'll feast
You feel at peace in a field of wheat
I lick steel out the silver jeep
Feel the heat, let familiar eat
Techs we'll squeeze break your
Shield in three
Just connect with me or you feel defeat
I tuck the chrome three bill degree

I got that wild style, come fuck around
And get layed down
By the foulest child I'll spray 'em down

The best MC duke, you know that's I
Sean Price, Mr music, Soul Child and I
You ape, I rate best rapper in tri-state
The other 47 states know that my rhyme great
All real, ya'll niggas is fake lord
I shake fake bitch-ass rappers on skateboards
Get the fuck out my face fam
'Fore I put my foot in your ass
And fuck up my Space Jams
Shave grams to engrave the space
'K blam, update your face
Listen, nigga the banger buck niggas
Fornicating with guns when
I finger-fuck triggers
Top five alive I kill 'em with one verse
Twistin' up your fingers
I kill you on son turf p, I give a clepto?
Sket blow, death blow fam
Where your candy at
I'm a maniac, fucking braniac