Schoolboy's verse may give MJ the edge.
I remember tripping, walking through the set like my Glock don’t think
Grandma in the kitchen, neck bones in the sink
I don’t know why your bytch want to fukk me
And I don’t know why you sucker nikkas can’t see
I’m from Hoover man, high as Superman, shyt you Lois Lane
You p*ssy man with the p*ssy game, shyt, we off the chain
We popping the fortune, not the fame, shyt, you backwards, man
You chasing hoes, we replacing hoes, bag and pass them hoes
You brought and chose, guess she moving on, yep, we do it wrong
We fukked her homes, fukked and sent her home, marijuana strong
You know I’m gone, turn my swagger on, am I swagged enough?
My paper long, yep, you left alone, you gets no fukks
Leaning off the Actavis, passing blunts round and round
Told me Mary was a go so we passed her round and round
Your bytch texted me, wants it now so I had to knock her down
Hurt her bouncing off my balls, slinging dikk up from the mound
You let it slide, I hit home-runs, clean her dugout till I’m done
I can be your number two and you can be her number one
Her p*ssy’s crazy, her p*ssy’s crazy, you fukk nikkas
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