Lyrics

Somebody tell me how I'm not official This shit I drop is like a chopper hit you And I can box, you 'bout to lose a lot of blood, look like Baraka bit you You know I'm hot bitch you not forgetful But I forgive you and I use the hate as the motivation Every rapper dissing me I'ma make em a coma-patient Theres no replacement for Payne They so impatient Niggas tryin to take my place in the game, ayo it´s blatant I been watchin em, Stackin my benjies on top of washingtons Dont make me let the semi snatch your oxygen Rappers gossipin' I Murder your top 10 ain´t no slap boxing еm I clip 'em easy, quicker than Stеvie was tappin Joseline Merciless, I got some thing perfect for all purposes Hitman, i get big paper for small services Conservative, ain't nothin sweet, no preservatives A nigga came to shake up the game Here go the turbulence Is second nature The weapon maker Protect the paper The Pistol smoke like I just left Jamaica F the haters We ballin, you just met the Lakers Your wife a fan Bite the hand for try'na pet the gators Check the flavor My nigga I been of a kind Im prolly hotter than the sun and the oven combined You know a gun in the palm I'm Big Pun in his prime True Payne, who's sane? I´m the son of Saddam They´ve been sleepin for years, I woke em up with a bar Disaffect, twist your cap like I´ma open a jar I´m rolling up a cigar I got a hammer so big You dont know if thats a gun or im holdin up a guitar Certified as a stepper Murder for my opressors Trying to steal from me A bullet'll circumsize a finesser I grew up in the 80s with Burners & Dr peppers I see through the bullshit I´m a fertilizing professor