Game Time

One verse shot should settle the score
You mad because my whack and my
Rap is better than yours
See a light from a different angle
You see a bitch is going to be a bitch
You can't turn a pigeon to an angel
But god is at least is going to snap
But you don't put in work with brand
New shirts and jeans for machine packs
And all of us is trying to eat
If you are trying better about cheddar you
Better leave a message behind the beat
None of you many should thou contest
I betcha were thinking a few
Hot singles album success
I have a million ways to kill a verse
And it's Andromeda's deep
Fuck beef I have a million
Ways to build a hearse
Fuck you know better than Qualm
Say if you want beef put it on the
Streets you wanted to get on a song
My advice to you is to get in the crowd
So when I spit sixteen duck
In the middle and crouch
Yo it's game time there's no competition
So we kick it but they hate mine
Compositions for the limit
Because they hate to fly
There just some motherfucking pigeons
So I aim high until they
Met the fucking limit

We back at it with a fist part too
The hit squad crew whose walking the whom
All I hear is garbage record label
The side of the army
Who started the motherfucker the
Place within the margin
Now that's my target hip-hop
Repping the snowgoons
The undergrounds you know don't tell
Me there ain't no room
To make loot to make room or to move back
Before we come out the back
Bats brewing cats
Swing bat ta homie we take it in our head
You heard me what I said
Best believe me breaking bread
Gimme that, don't be hard don't force that
All my fans reppin' hard for me in Joylands
Switch too, we got Goons around
The world ready to bust
Change the spit's crew
Homie they don't even rat me
Out and bust ya, you want a broom
I don't care if I offend you
I can say what I want and do what I do

Yo It's game time there's no competition
So we kick it but they hat mine
Compositions for the limit
Because they hate to fly
There just some motherfucking pigeons
So I aim high until they
Met the motherfucking limit

There's a whole lot coming from outside
You can't run from it
You better confront it before
Things are coming
Hit you in the head with my
Stomache before you bleed fuck it
You're about to doubt about
The streets cousin all of a sudden
I got a show blow of bastards
Hell of a hand basket
While I focus on the madness for disaster
While I handle the rampage close your casket
Leave your store of brews and bastings
Forty out sweep guzzlin' just
Drying your pain
When we ain't got nothing to lose
Man you could lose your brain
You said it was sanely insane
I guess the grey blood was all in your veins
So the competition was so lame
To throw bread it ain't the same
Without a hockey mask in a cage
Friday the 13TH it all been played
Blood smells like bloodline when
You called my name