Termanology | Funk Flex | #Freestyle030

Lyrics

[Intro] Yeah Termanology Law Town Funk Flex Yo, check it [Verse 1] First off, fuck the mumble rap I put my gun in they mouth, let 'em mumble to that I'm on my New York Shit, dead ass facts beat Free my man Wais P, free Max B Still I put the gun to they head Since Funkmaster Flex and the ghetto celebs I'm no shorty Homie, I'll stop your glory Taking shots, Drink Champs, shout out to N.O.R.E I'm from Law Town, Mass, so they hatin' on me It's all good, most of 'em I pop they shawty [Interlude] You feel me? Hold up, we're just getting started Yo [Verse 2] Life is all about choices, brown or clear liquor Either way, that shit meant to pierce liver Let me break it down and give you a clear picture This game full of clowns, just keeping it real witcha Frontin' on the Gram so they can appear witcha Frontin' like stars but really a mere flicker I can't front though, the plot just grows thicker Even Pac started to think he was the real Bishop I got the juice now Term go ahead and Diddy Bop 50 caliber in the trunk, I call it Fitty Wap My cousin still in the can, sometime I sit and plot Another innocent man killed by a city cop Courts, judges and pigs they all go hand in hand They even falsified death pics of Sandra Bland Who can you trust now since you can't trust the news And Fox 5 feeding us lies, thinking we fools Guess that's the reason I rhyme to drop jewels And give you something different you wasn't taught in a school And fuck love cuz love will keep you confused That's why I switch bitches like kicks, fitteds and shoes I'm tryna lighten the mood, that's why I kid and joke But ain't a damn thing funny about living broke Or shoveling snow to give the kids Christmas clothes Or dropping 200 songs and ain't got shit to show Eating Ramen and eggs for like 9 days And your royalty check can't even buy J's Thinking back to when I used to supply haze Moms stressing me, "This ain't the son that I raised" I just wanna get on and live the good life Fat bank account, new big house, kids, wife Picket fence with a couple of dogs A big ass yard and a four car garage Like it's all about triplets [Interlude] Chevelles, baby! Hey yo, check it Yo! [Verse 3] One hand on the bag, other hand is on the pad In a Kaepernick jersey, I ain't standing for the flag Might as well be Confederate, the way they so devilish Treat men in blue above the law, like we irrelevant Kill us on the camera, with little to no answer And ignorance is spread through the street, like it was cancer Even Obama couldn't do shit, but propaganda Not even Sway, Ye' or Allen Iverson had the answer Monopolies, turned to heath insurance policies And student loans designed to keep you in poverty Look, what you gon do wit' ya life? You gon' spend 5 hours a day looking at likes? Or you gon' get a education, have you a revelation That saving your soul leads your to permanent salvation Or you go out drinking, falling for temptation Thinking you sleeping with a person, really sleeping wit' Satan Only thing you got when you die is ya legacy And ya soul, let's hope you ain't sell it and live heavenly The Devil be over your shoulder and he be plotting So what now? Now it's time for you to watch him