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mid - swaggjackin' lyrics

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[verse 1: mid r kay]
yeah, mad swag but i’m the gladdest
every forty days paper chasin’ i’m the fastest
laughin’ ‘cross the finish line
i’m shakespeare b-st-rd
but don’t try and play me m-th-f-cka that be tragic
on tragedy pumpin’ illmatic ’cause i’m [?] charismatic
but first i’m soundin’ like the last of me
i’m heartless at [?]
you wouldn’t have it if i had it
with a dutch i’m the master don’t p-ss over me just p-ss to me
you b-tches all catastrophes, life is a puzzle
my flow is just a masterpiece you heard of me
if you didn’t little brother learned of me [?] eternally
don’t tell me where the virgins be
where the f-ckin’ freak b-tches
swaggin’ just leakin’ peep my copyright infringements
i could freeze you in your footsteps
with a line or with a sentence
i make an entrance they entranced i’m dead-ss
simplistic, ballistic sick sh-t i give this
i’m finished

[hook: mid r kay]
i’m so m-th-f-ckin’ high
might as well touch the sky right
three r’s, two b-tches, one blunt where the lighter
finna burn ’till i feel right
and i’m f-ckin’ swagged out
you f-ckin’ swaggajackin’
i’m f-ckin’ tired of it, get yo’ own style homie
and i’m f-ckin’ swagged out
you f-ckin’ swaggajackin’
i’m f-ckin’ tired of it, get yo’ own style homie

[verse 2: jl]
murder in the first
my place is never second
third time’s a charm
i’m foreplay with the women
you know i plead the fifth every time it comes to snitchin’
leave a n-gg- blue but my squad they sixin’
maybe go to heaven if ya lucky number seven
life’s a game of numbers
so just watch which one you pickin’
i do ’em dirty like jada did will
fresh prince swag so hate ’em they will
the money’s always movin’ i just can’t stay still
my n-gg-s hungry get fat like phil
my steak’s fat like phil, uncle
don’t get clapped like a round of applause
dirty n-gg- be around in the yards
and all my dawgs be surroundin’ the yard
so how the f-ck ya’ll doin, bet i’m doin’ better
you just stop countin’ money when it grows forever
keep a hoe for each outfit, got clothes forever
she brainstorm like she know the weather

[hook: mid r kay]
i’m so m-th-f-ckin’ high
might as well touch the sky right
three r’s, two b-tches, one blunt where the lighter
finna burn ’till i feel right
and i’m f-ckin’ swagged out
you f-ckin’ swaggajackin’
i’m f-ckin’ tired of it, get yo’ own style homie
and i’m f-ckin’ swagged out
you f-ckin’ swaggajackin’
i’m f-ckin’ tired of it, get yo’ own style homie



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