A Budding J

"A Budding J"
Written by Sheik7574

Aspar the hero,
Let's be honest though,
What you think Sammy do with all that cash flow?
Rig shows, snort blow, screaming go while racking up ho's?

No!

Those goons from Round 5'll be back again,
told yo dumb ass not to take 'em as friends.
When you let 'em all in,
a message that sends,
to every kingpin residin' in the den of sin.

Men!
Can't ever trust them,
Remember Lem?
Knocked you out and jacked ya Benz?
Stop lookin' through them cherry lenses. (sniff)
And lay off the incense.

Yo mista simms!
Bitch what you want?
Why you always gotta stop and flaunt blood money copped from Round 5's old haunt?

NOT!
Dis is from setting up shop,
cashin' in on my crop,
and skimmin' just a little bit off da top.

FLOP!
Dis time was wasted,
shoulda stayed at the joint and kept on bakin'.

Nigga why you hatin'?
Cuz ya bitch still at my pad waitin'.
Don't know why, you know the bitch skeezin.

Fuck that shit, I never quit believin'!
'Specially iff'n nobody's ever seen it,
Never stop, even after I drop wheezin'.

Keep appeasin' dem demi-digital devils,
yo soul gone end up like dat ol' tea kettle!
And when dem angels come to settle,
they'll jump at the chance to snag a fuckin' medal,
YA DIG?

Remember every bitch nigga gets his day.
When the freaks crawl out and come to play.
Pedos and rambo's end up back on the streets anyway.
Running around, paroozin' the town, seems these fools will never slow down.
HEY!

Gotta pray they'll learn eventually.
Finally see it never paid to be greedy,
And when he walk out debt free,
Maybe, just maybe, he'll find the strength to get over me.
Leaving me free as can be,
to part the Red Sea,
brew my green tea,
and fuckz with my ladies.

No mo',
leavin' me wincin' with skinned knees
bruised and bleeding,
screaming, under da stars
cryin' so hard.

Shoulda left his drunk ass, you FUCKING RETARD!
Never forget the shit that happened last May.
Dat fool still schemin' to skull fuck you with his last play,
Doubt spurred on by shades of gray,
Stupid motherfucker done lost his way.

Comin' from the school of pray & spray,
Where ''gimme da money'' is all they can say,
You think a stint in prison is the only price you'll pay?

The reason we fell,
Christ compells,
Somehow against all logic you tell
and single-handedly sell-

God! What's that smell?
That'd be your scrawny ass, burnin' in hell.
Aided swiftly by liberal application of tonic and gel,
supplied as always by faggot ass Mel.

Yay or nay?
Little bastard won't even stop and say hey.
Half tempted to throw out a job for Ray.
Sick of playin' charades.
'Bout ready to let the SMG rain on his parade.

Stop. That ain't our way.
Put the gat down and do as I say.
Don't bother calling Ray,
That double-dealin' fucker Mel will have his day.

But what about our pay?
Chill motherfucker, chill!
I gots someplace to stay.
We hold on to our heads and everything will be okay,
Someday...


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