IMPERIAL BY KAZELOON
I split this in two peas in a Los Podrino-never losing my Los Padrino-I stand at the Imperial Highway-where the Rivers split like the legs of a fine face-like lips-to slits-skips to miss-like oil spit to slicc-greasy hits on her Tulips-but I don't miss like Ironic Redeye Chronic-Bullseye in a citch-taget hit-then go to sleep Tarpits-over tarp hits-I'm posted for my hood like a Monster Crip over Centinela-Hillside Memorial Park & Mortuary filler-if you wanna get graver on da realer-but we ain't tryna really kill ya-for what? we can all have Pepper & Dine-and Howard Hughes fly-with Pepperdine-like we city tear ass all at the same time-hit the center and keep the core solid-better then being a corpse on dove for wood island-I'd rather post with foxes in da hills near Doverwood Hillsiding-count Buckingham by the Palace Way-while Green Valley get greener everyday-count da berries-they Blue Corn Comics from the roots of Marvel Quarries-like the Roc Pile in Belvedere Park-I keep it hot and turn the N in Sumner into a M for Summer-the Left Way-then melt the snow on Paramount the Windsor Way-as my Dragon Breath display-me L rose to the higher planes-like out the Level 4 Game-to the Green Islands on Go-feeling so Wonderful & Imperial-or Marvelous and I'm pretty ya'll-or I'm pure and all-I'm bout to pair some draws-and pear them raw-to the last peer straw-as I split on da fake peers dat fall-they the type dat wanna take you to Santa Monica Pier so u could fall-they a Quest Chain that got unthawed-they say they too cold like they wanna shoot up the schools, churches, movie theaters, and malls-they don't have no real balls-but the Tu's is they Parrot Call-the Eel Mcraws-water snakes that creep like IT-thru TTX poisonous water that was made for Seth-they follow the River Stix-like they them down straight with the 357 Cobra Python fucc da 8-cuz 38 Chief Special especially don't hold no weight-unless it's the Indian Cheif out the window then throw sinks and get away-follow the water like the rivers that's what they say-One Flew Over The Cukoo's Nest Theory Mang-they fake Jokers-with what Joker Gang?-they say they The Riddler's but they a question mark with no face-No Face wonders-Life is they Dishonor on blunder-they ain't no Prince so they feing for the Whale blubber-but they can't even afford to burn rubber-and that's to da gutter-as they stop on the butter-like a dime to a fake other-that never knew no Made Brother-from the Uplander Way-where the God's of Thug Lander stay-and play Riot Games but maintain-a peaceful sense of serenity without the malays-dat love real Branders all day-but no need to burn ya dat stain-dat don't fade-it's Grade A-regardless of the guards on the lean frames-I bring the Ballona Creek to her heart all day-straight to my babys brain-with my Tooty I got her on my ambilical cord all day-42 times is the charm-like her name tatted on my arm-she my personal yoyo-a ducchead dat go go-insane when I flow flow-the L.A River all down her throat loc-no need for the Rio Hondo no-my river don't run out-unlike Venice Blvd and the Cock dat ran-like Cochran Ave-she said forever it's on-like your cologne spray on my favorite repeated song-called Dusk till Dawn-with my Hitlord Jim Webb Trail-I got her on the hardest Stoneview to high to fail-just ride the excel-even in hell-with no light or bail-a Blair Hills Witch-that blared my stones to sicc-until my mail had no postage-like clown ass pig-center stage with a hogtied audience-no hogwash just a hogtrail-how I cracced her Oyster Creek like her tail-in a Patternson by the creeks until all the Blue Loon Birds set sail-through the Alice In Winter WonderLAnd Mirror Door-The Looking Glass that you never seen before-her V-sign is erotica-like welcome to the Rainbow Chronic Club-Cloverdale dyed with King lighter and Bic colors-light it up then the Rainbow Crystals pop like Agent Orange Place-ain't no need for no Rooten Apples and Poison Pairs to help me-I got Ivy-on my eye three-like a lifeline I.V to the I.P-da addy is ABI Geez-Imperial Courts smoking J's with the P-to the Illside-with Molly-on some goat shit on the Bullside like M.J clowing with the Funnyside and Ali-picture perfect like a Islandside her Low Bottoms gotta be-dats Watts Up to the Westside of the 213-my Jim Webb a perfect fit like a glove-for Cloverdale right next to Mantova and Punta-conected like Twin Doves-in love-till da end of above-


Lyrics submitted by WestburyRdEnt.

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