52 carat blue diamond
Rhymin', interior designin', grindin'
You can shake cheddar like me on the mic

Hit your point, hold your money when you're rollin' the dice, baby
Uhh.. either you go crash-and-burn
Or wake up in the morning with cash to earn, tiga

Check it homie get good with me
If just I can find your hood again
Who is that in the car? yo couldn't be

All the way out here, yeah Nicki t
Russian, get the weed sparked
Get the party started

And watch yo back fo the shark
^!$$% cold-hearted


We got bakin soda
All the way down in minnesota
We got bakin soda

Down in minnesota

I got a fetish for Adidas, boss

But I betcha don't know what my Fila's cost, do ya
On chew, like dem baby pit bulls
And ain't no way you can touch my....cool

The 12th floor at the Marriot
You know, me and my tigaz chill there a lot
Fetti

I sit alone when the mic's on
With Tyson every time that the fight's on, kill 'em
I remember rhymes used to ride with nets

Flight at the midnight high with jets
You know Al Capone stretched tryi' to save the sets
And I'm teflon down, t shirts and gats

Rhymes you can taste, Rhymes, Rhymes galore
Rhymes you can buy at the candy store
You know who I am, I'm like credit card scam

Hot like tofu, greens and yams
Extra-curricula, netting that riddicula
Hit the cloud like the bear or the fiddila

Shouldn've lied, I coulda been a good friend to ya
Now I got to get rid of ya


We got bakin soda
All the way down in minnesota
We got bakin soda

Down in minnesota

I told my mom somethin' that made her cry

Looked her in the eye and said rappers don't die
We not gonna have an' tour, but we gon get by
So most of us gonna be in hell high, kickin'

Now put the rhyme on a triple beam
Now rock it up, and chop it up
And try to grind into triple cream

Don't get caught with the same scheme
Meaning don't get caught with the same thing, King
It's like you got to be bald

Cuz hoes and ^!$$%z wanna see you go far
I think they mad when I ticks them off
But I'm a hyena so I got to laugh and break some off


The hot wax that's real fatal
Sup'd up to perfection like a weapon on a turntable

They say Gretta's got a new baretta
And he'll be aiming his gat like a crooked letter, foreva
I hit the night like stormy weather

And if you brag about your freak, i'mma say mine's way better
I rotate like the hands of a clock
And find ways to make my rap beat all on your block

You better knock on the door tiga
And lay them all on the floor tiga
Cuz I think they want more tiga

I blow 'em out like a flat tire
And hit the weed for Richard Pryor
Then call 'em all straight liars

The corks in me like the tail of a fox
So get the grease hot, ^!$$%
Or your tigaz'll be caugh