kenny diaz – curriculum vitae lyrics
kenny diaz ft. a+b+tta + “curriculum vitae”
[emcee(s): a+b+tta]
[producer(s): kenny diaz]
[verse 1: a+b+tta]
ayyo, i write rhymes daily, i’m hot like halley’s comet
and my n+ggas throw it up like vomit, and i
smoke anything—i mean anything—from that
dirty brown chocolate to the west coast chronic. if you
need it, i got. if i see, i cop it. got so many
avi’, they gave me the keys to the c+ckpit, pop off
shots through your knocker, make you bleed through your boxers. see me
with vodka and ganja on a beach in bahamas, laid+up
with a slo who be feeding me pasta like i’m
tony from sopranos, only for the cash flow
and she don’t like it there, only in her assh0l+
raps so sick, b+tch, blow that d+ck. (she’s)
(swallowing). here, hold that clip (of these)
(hollow tips. we’re monsterous), beastly
each week, we re+up, see? we’re them hustlers
b+tches want free weed and dutches, but i
keeps ‘em on their knees ‘til they’re needing crutches, clutch
the hammer, screaming out, “u can’t touch this,” sell like
“country grammar,” so rambunctious. f+ck
your mama and papa, bruh. we’re not cousins, uh+uh
[hook: a+b+tta]
n+ggas think
b+tta be f+cking around ‘til i act like black moon
and start “bucking ‘em down.” sh+t, huh, we could drink
a couple of rounds and go a couple of rounds
smoke a couple of pounds or smoke a couple of pounds
then take that! i’ll put clowns under the ground, have their
mothers wondering how their son isn’t found—f+ck that
spit thunderous sound. i ain’t f+cking around
i ain’t f+cking around. nah, n+gga
[verse 2: a+b+tta]
‘cause, see, my
curriculum vitae, man, simple and plain. i ain’t
blow yet, i know n+ggas is feeling my pain. it’s
aight though, i light hydro to the brain. know i came
from squeezing in between people on the train, squeezing
two more chicks inside a light+blue range
nice new chain for y’all to admire, spit
hot sh+t. what you want? lava or fire? b+tches scream
“oh my god.” i’m not the messiah, just
a guy with a big c+ck and a glock full of iron sh+t
y’all n+ggas could see
i’m sitting on 22’s, sipping a 22
gripping my .22 with a b+tch that’s 22
[hook: a+b+tta]
n+ggas think
b+tta be f+cking around ‘til i act like black moon
and start “bucking ‘em down.” sh+t, huh, we could drink
a couple of rounds and go a couple of rounds
smoke a couple of pounds or smoke a couple of pounds
then take that! i’ll put clowns under the ground, have their
mothers wondering how their son isn’t found—f+ck that
spit thunderous sound. i ain’t f+cking around
i ain’t f+cking around. nah, n+gga
[outro: a+b+tta] (x2)
another one bites the dust
another one bites the dust
and another one dies, another one dies
another one bites the dust
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