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midknyte - grave talk lyrics

[verse 1]
my minds too creative, filled with gas
i 500 percent every f+ckin’ task
irony on trash
admire me, you want this cash
you think your years on music
shows you deserve a stash?
turn that pass
mothaf+cka, i’ll burn yo ass
did you earn yo best
when you was learned to rest?
yea, yea
your sound in quality is laughable
sounded like you recorded animals
your sound in style is mid
but again to begin you sound like a kid
but again to begin you a b+tch
grown adult throwin’ fits
on yo own, you owin’ sh+t
so mr. sparks can you sit down
i’ll leave you alone if you put this out
don’t let the fire burn no more
‘cause it already burnt down yo floor
chris on a list of rappers to k!ll
this a visit on a hitlist on cappers to bill
franklin on his head, onе shot and he dead
got my jacket rеd, f+ckin’ rack it ‘till he bled (yea)
shotpopper, shot caller, on pay (on pay)
leave him burnin’ like it’s f+ckin’ pompeii (pompeii)
shoutin’ “f+ck south eastside” all day (all day)
poppin’ pistols and trunks without a small trace (small trace)
not ohio, it was tennessee, athens
i must have been mistaken
not my fault yo city is a generic ass name and
you might need saving
get on yo knees praying
thank you for waitin’ and yo patience
but i have no faith in this new generation
you faded and i baited you
too sedated to cry “i hated you”
yea
[chorus]
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock

[verse 2]
i run everybody and everyone out
i rape the f+ckin’ game until she pouts
i left my mark on this b+tch, d.w
look to your left, i’ll be gunnin’ you
say my name, and watch ‘em all flock
say my name, they all rat to the cops
this beat my b+tch and the game my block
accused of bottin’ views
he tryna gain my spot
sneak dissin’, tryna pop a shot
hot potato, come and catch this glock
razor blade on my nine
put a bandaid on my nine
better be paid on time
‘fore i pay a taste of mine (headshot)
i’m the grim reaper with my scythe
push the blade deeper in you with my knife
i won’t lie
time to die
talkin’ still online
talkin’ ill on my, name, you in my range
‘bout to make you call that hotline
workin’ on clock partime
ready to hit those slots, hardtimes
makes you wish you had dreams
you have to cut yourself to see if you bleed
needs, you can’t believe
you see all these other rappers achieve
this life, these wives and this cheese
i’m tryna pull, so you can rap
at first, it wasn’t even a attack
at best, it was a little jab
that’s how it is, watch yo back
but now, it’s you a p+ssy chris
you don’t really wanna push me, chris
what’s with that f+ggot diss?
no p.l., they already had it skipped, yea
frantic b+tch
[chorus]
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock

[verse 3]
as i conclude this verse
i’ve been boo’ed and cursed
at when i rapped, let me tell you
it do get worse
i have to k!ll you now
you coulda been the man
now i gotta drill you now
you’ll have no plans
lord, forgive me for he do not know
everyone including me about reap what we sow
every slice is weaker, my knife is dull
put you down, bullet through your skull
seven years ago, a new b+tch started a path
a path of lies and weird sh+t mixed with ass
your ego inflated, pop it like a balloon (pop)
or a glock, i ain’t gon’ stop, highest in the room
never knew my views would go after you
it’s true, i’m new, welcome to my game
my name, my fame, but don’t step on my shoes
and f+ck south eastside
i couldn’t rep it if i was you
step after step when i use
checks on the rest, i done blew
yo head off yo chest, it’s rude
i’m fed up of the stress from blues
so just know you’re already dead
just listen to what i said
you’re nothing but a washed
clothed, rinse and repeat
bootleg version of your idol, on seen
views don’t mean sh+t when you gettin’ laughed at
and please don’t try to sit there and backtrack
and please don’t sit there and call me an “asshat”
(it hurt my feelings)
chris wearin’ a tampax
[chorus]
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock
pop a f+ckin’ shot
smokin’ on my opps
ready hittin’ clocks
gettin’ them spayed with my glock

- midknyte lyrics

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