BUMPERS BY KAZELOON
Bumper to bumper traffic-we move it automatic-traffic cops can't stand it-we some Pomona Freeway Bandits-ironically on the 60-it's never hands up to the five-o-we headed West on the 10 on the Santa Monica like Fieval-I'm grinding everyday tryna say goodbye to Somaliwood-like Em said goodbye to Hollywood-this ain't the County Building get out of line-we ain't got nothing free for you except a ass beating all night-we blaccened all day and put out daylight-you gonna feel like a little kid and feel me nigga-not like a chester I'm waiting 4 a investor like a gold digger-100 million dollars now that's some big figures-Ima Original Trapstar I trap my lil homies in the Trogan Magnum-no ribbed I don't want her to get to wet then she might tag may-when she have one-fucc child support I'm tryna leave the bad slums-cross us the wrong way and get crossed out the game-you ain't gonna be hitting up on the wall with your no name-and the rest of your tags gon fade-it dawned on me she was succing my Newports at Kepple-like no mark on Atlantic Crown like from El Repetto to the road Repetto-she had my paccs on Menthol King 120's before the hundreds even came out-why cuz all I did was put my Big Cane in her mouth-she cleaned it real good like the Cigar Store & Laundromat next to Ralph's-I put Splinter Cells in hoes brains-straight from the cold world winter cell the hole where I stay-I put Splinter rats with tails in a domain-until they hoodrats gone inside-that's how I go to war with they clits all day-I got the Devil's luck like a Immortal Luciano with all the power-a Family Guy like Seth duccing near death and the 911 Twin Towers-Gangsta Rap didn't make me bad-I was already hella bad-it was just a soundtrack-for the things I was doing everyday in the hood-on Brooklyn & Bleakwood-up to no good-it starts with the head then it leads to the whole body-first it's 4 play then it's 24-7 play-and all da bad hoes wanna play with may-until it's Mayday-and I knocc em out with the hay make-my girls are Chempogoblins-they love my hole while dey slobbin-those are my Lean Hoez poppin-my Bleakwoody helped her get rid of her Hylophobia-she got lost in my Woods on da Ave got her 2 wet like Hydrotopia-haters coming up missing like the free beat tapes at Dat Piff-the ones I spit on with freestyles real quicc-that shows you who's really running this-and you been running out of clips-busting ammunition made 4 movies and shit-when you locced up and doing bad them bitch ass niggaz ain't around-and when you doing big having thangs them bitch ass niggaz ain't suppose to be around-you know us Nips out them all-because we live like convicts who are well preserved in cells or rooms that are real small-a daily diet of vegatables, rice, and fish not cat and dog paws-I got at least 4 Queens on my Facebook-my Big Face they took-that's why I'm on swoll on Westside Crip Gang like Took-it's the way they hang on my hook-once you come up to my Loft there ain't no coming down-just like Room 309 we stay above high ground-on the town-they told me to kill the beats Kaze-I told em not to much cuz I own em not lease-just exclusively-so why would I want to R.I.P my beats-which means I don't practice or rehearse just freestyle on da daily-I got a blue dyed Dogo Argentino to guard my bumps-pussy on my mind 24-7-I blow my brans out with Cobra 357-my brains fly and go straight to Lesbian Heaven-Lesbo's Island in 3 Dimension-I keep these hoes hot-like inmates about to parole bacc to the blocc-then finding out from they Counselor they have a Detainer they gonna stay on locc-rolling on the highway like it's the Dead Sea in a Semi Trucc-sprinkling coke crumbs to reincarnate the dead Pirates so I guess I'm a semi trucc-I tell them to hop on as we sail thru the forgotten slums-hook ass niggaz get off the Captain Hook Neverland's been closed-you won't get a Wendy's chiccen sandwhich ya hoes-let alone-some Peter Pan green dough-I'm mad at Obama I'm going to be taking a loss-thanks to HR 1314 I'm Old School pimpin I need every penny I got-see homie you a square you fit perfect in the gayest Happy Meal toy box-and my micro machines nothing but the rarest limited edition Porsche Box-and the baddest bitches in the world live in my glove box-they love how I high speed and knocc out there on bump box-you thought it was the speakers-or the tweeters-naw it was just me getting leaner-


Lyrics submitted by Westbury Rd. Entertainment

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