Started...
Started

[Verse 1]
Boy I be trying to make shit, that my niggas can fuck wit
All the fucking time though, off some hyperproductive young shit
This my flow I used on Christmas, back in the summer shit
Hanna Barbera era, gat with the funk shit
A connoisseur of calming cures as common as the awful cold
Samurai don't drop the sword for no
Bitch know I'm off top more than Solange Knowles
Big flows like the crotch of your young Aunt Josie
And I coast through the flows, nigga, Ozzy and Drix
Probably could pick a bitch from off of the timeliest risk
If you don’t fuck with Sir E, your dad is probably a bitch
Hire the Hip, you know I don’t give hardly a shit
From Fort Washington, you know I don’t give hardly a shit
Maryland nigga, Maryland nigga on with your bitch
Fuck you niggas off the molly, yall could hardly uplift
More bounce to the ounce, bitch
Ollie and drift
And swerve, young frankincense and myrhh la flare
You’re adjourned and a germ so I serve you slurs
[Raps in French]
(This nigga got it)
Word
No error, Hippogawd speaks them words
Hopefully that leads to green with the Slug, like slurm
Get the neck from Sarah Sil-ver-man
On Yom Kippur and
Cop the shirt-pants for girlfriend
Stereotype turban, meaning
That she will give me head til the world ends. Steven
Gimme bread, clumsy ass African that can’t pearl shit
I won’t hurl shit
(lie)

[Bridge]
And you know I keep it real like I’m kid Gaddafi
Also I get the bills like I’m kissing Daffy
Traveling and living life, I might just kill a cabby
I might live the guerilla life if I'm Magilla crafty
I sell a million off of white if I’m feeling nappy
I got your bitch, I put the dill off in her chicken scampi
The women ask me

[Verse 2]
These days I hate shit
I fall prey to Satan
I really hate waiting
Cop the rage switch
These days me and bae just don’t say shit
I would break shit, but I ain’t courageous
Enough to have my main bitch straight playing the waitress
Serving two masters, my pain and the pagan:
Godly persona as the basis to guage this:
Quantitative games, that I've played with strangers
Them times I gave play to them round the way girls
And every purple-hair-never-found-her-way girl
Head-make-ya-mate-‘fore-you-count-to-8-girls
So many stray girls can make one’s brain swell
And weigh that nigga down til he's late for
The gates of hell
I’m playing the fields until I pay the bills
And keep my name hot like a grill
Blow off the lid til their fucking hearts spill
A mom, God, and Whitney
Is inconclusively
No excuse for the, something wrong with me
Earned quite the rude nickname in Palm City
African-don God who charms titty of blondes
I'd manipulate the whites in the city of God
I grip nip quick whether nippy or warm
The incense lick sick stick to your draws
(I fucked up)
I said the incense' lit scent stick to your draws
Make her take it off like she listen to Mom
Hippogawd always convincing as God
(laughs) That’s it!