Dirty

Lyrics

[Intro] Um, have you ever felt, like, you're, y'know... dirty? The dirtiest Get dirty! Dirty bastard What a dirty, filthy mind you've got [Verse 1: Diabolic and Buttatones] As God rested and the seventh day passed, I had props I'm the reason they keep heaven's gate latched and padlocked I share the same genetic traits as a Sasquatch And secret agents from the NSA hacking laptops You can check my resume tracked through back blocks Where Dope heads were kids let 'em play catch with crack rocks I levitate to levels way past the last flock My mental state kept in a plane crasher's black box Way back at Tab's spot, with his older brother Met my homie Butta, sixteen years we know each other Street shit, sip these beers and roll another Each hit makes the spit scream fear, the odor from us Yo motherfucker, 'Tones is Butta, my flow is gutter The hoes will love us so much they poke holes in rubbers Yo 'Bolic, (What up?) I see people like your album covers (Why's that?) They front never shows true colors Rocking clothes outta dumpsters spitting dope on the stage Rolling dutches by the hundreds, blowing smoke in your face Bring the flavor on tracks, but that's only a taste 'Cuz when you see me live , I probably stomp a hole in the place Grabbing bitches by the brains, getting brains with my blunt lit Known to only fuck with sluts that suck dick in public Repulsive, self-destructive, repugnant Words are offensive, verses get censored, but fuck it Yeah, fuck it out in Suffolk, I'm son of Jarell Summoned from hell, puffing an L, under a spell I do my thing, king of the jungle, hunting gazelles On tour while chicks FaceTime, touching themselves (Disgusting!) What else? Not courteous, arrogant, obnoxious, impervious Wordsmith, every verse spit muderous, ha, ha You now fucking with the dirtiest [Bridge: Maggie Burnz] This that New York shit, that fucking raw shit [Verse 2: Buttatones and Diabolic] Yo I used to hop fences, running from cops I hid dubs in my sock, they were 'bucking on shots On the block cyphering, for the love of hip-hop Naturally I, still got in dutches and pot Up in the spot, puffing, bumping rum and Ciroc Record spinning, reminiscing of the stuff you forgot On some other shit, blunt is lit, chugging some scotch 'Til the day I die as part of a government plot Nothing but props, constantly avoiding your daps That golden sound hold it down, like the noise in the back Mark my words, just like my voice in the wax Run up on the radio and I'm destroying your tracks Enjoying the fact I make a living spitting these rhymes Outside the box, like the coach giving me signs The epitome, I don't need the industry shine Real talk, other rappers be habitually lying (Committing these crimes) Nah, they be copping a plea (And that's why these motherfuckers) Ain't rocking with me Provocatively, mock an MC, for talking 'bout his Glock and his 'V Cheddar Bob, shot in the knee [Outro: Maggie Burnz] This that New York shit, that fucking raw shit