GotBars
Cypher

Cypher Lyrics DJ Ill Will feat. Kid Ink,Los,Meek Mill,Tory Lanez

[Verse 1: Kid Ink]
Yeah
I said its Kid Ink baby
Turned to the max like TJ
Body tagged up like the bottom of the freeway
Game on lock, you niggas need to get a key made
Run this shit and it ain't nothing but a relay
And ain’t nothing you can tell us
About to roll up, kush sticky like Elmer’s
This ain’t no how I act like summa
Going head up with me, bring a motherfucking helmet
You niggas just special ed
All I see is green but my eyes so red
And all I do is win, got a room full of clouds
About to take another shot but I’m used to the fouls
I'm ballin', you could take two to the mouth
It's alumni, throw it up, two to the south
Tell them deuces, just put two in the air
So sick, said it must be the flu in the air
If you do it big then I probably did it obese
Thought it was a dream but I never get no sleep
Up all night getting higher then the nose bleed
Swear I was raised by a beast like Mogli
Came from the bottom, rats and the roaches
Now a nigga's blunts sitting as fat as my roaches
Bout to go ham, you niggas just kosher
I’m a shark in the water, see the fin and it's over

[Verse 2: Meek Mill]
Bitch
They were sleeping on me
Time for me to wake them up
Counting all these fucking benjys
'Til I get a paper cut
Kill the competition, I embalm em then I make em up
Only time we Black and Yellow when the caution tape is up
Ha, that record dead, Memory of
Spitting that crack
This really is drugs
It's hate in the air
I ain’t feeling the love
You like an irritating fly
I’m killing your buzz
I’m eating the beat
This is Pac-Man
I’m on the grind like a motherfucking lap dance
Shorty gon’ do whatever
Say she's a rap fan
Every nigga around me robbin', Batman
All black coupes
All black wheels
Step out the line, I'm a show you how that MAC feel
I’m like C. Bailey in the corner of that backfield
Wrong move will get your motherfucking cap pilled
Rolling and then swerving
Engine purrin' through your neighborhood
Let my money do the talking
I ain't gotta say I'm good
Homies that'll gun you down
I ain’t gotta say I would
Riding like an engine bitch
I ain’t gotta say I’m hood
I tell a ho to follow me or swallow me
I be spending money
Like I fucking hit the lottery
If I ever hit your girl
Then this is my apology
Cause suckers that be tripping about these bitches
Tryna body me

[Verse 3: Los]
I’m about to go
Rope around my arm
Needle in it I could feel it now
Towel round my head
Taliban knock the building down
High cock blocker
I’m a fly top shotter
In my all red rims
Like a high top Prada
On my mommas mouth to the drama
And lies would be gripping from my lips
As I’m spitting that shit that Osama be gripping
Hungry as a poverty stricken
Robbery victim
With a roscoes waffles and chickens
Winning lottery ticket
And your girl let me pop it in real life
I beat it like they locked me in a room
With the doctor that killed Mike
I feel like, put me in a field let the field lights
Shine on the field now watch me kill all the field mice
I’m anthrax you tampax
I’m about to go Amtrax
Jack Black black Jack
Got the track saran wrap
Stand back I’m slamming an antagonist
Slapping you faggots putting the can in a bandwagon
Swag of the century, mack and the bench of three
I hear it was nothing trying to crack it eventually
Rappers they mention me
Boy I put this on my mother
You will end up in the scope (interscope)
Im jus trynna warn a brother (warner brother)
Still getting cheescake on these dummies
Deal or no deal I got a briefcase full of money
Jahlil on the beat, Will hosting this shit
And its T-Lanez, Ink, Meek, and Los in this bitch

[Verse 4: Tory Lanez]
I get in the instrumental, like it a switch in the metal?
The bitch in rental just positions my dick in her dental
Y’all know my bitch is yellow bone, on yellow stone
Double scoop, chocolate woman and my vanilla cone
Yelling cause I’m very calm, yes I’m on the cherry bone?
Things seem quicker than a ping hit ya berry phone
Ya don’t wanna talk about balling parallel larry homes
Money never growing, like a fucking young gary colmen
Men veteran, batter up, batter in
Its the N to you rappers, like the letter after M
And im a Lamborghini nigga, nigga you can never see me
Im the shhh, triple H, you gone have to pedigree me
Bitch im ready for the beef, like its some lettuce in between me
You got inny meeny money, teeny like the youngest preemy
And even if you niggas is crippin, still can never “C” me
Or beat me with 3 wishes, and a motherf-cking genie
Scared and they fare when I play a record on ya
Weird and you squared, I could play checkers on ya
Rappers, yall actors, and I rip this track till its “Tra”-”ck”
I roller blade, let it ride, show my face, televise
Dot to ya top, like the lower case letter I
I fly higher that a sci fi flyer
Fire like im 5 lighters, brighter than a high lighter
Oops, im in a loop for time
This a european whip check the coupe design
Time is money is the money and the truth inside
Goon shoot you in ya head make ya loose ya mind, fareal


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