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mr. manhattan - anorak lyrics

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[verse 1: mr. manhattan]

dondada, sippin horchata

my fans call me manhat

an ya b-tch calls me dada

stains from mama’s empinadas

on my shirt, that’ s designer

it’s the master rhymer

lines sweet like aunt jemima’s

rona limin’

pec timin’

ya tecs talk

my tec’s rhyming

with the well phrased linin’

and the punches boppin’ heads

lee the barber choppin’ heads

trilla zilla coppin’ keds

and tre squared got the tales bout the females

makin babies, boppin’ beds

sh-ggy dog swag style taggin sh-ggin’ down in dumbo

and nasty b-tches got me finger waggin’ like mutombo

b-tch you spittin or swallowin

i don’t care if you a model and

shutcha mouth with that hollerin’

you drinkin’ from the bottle and

now you start to waddle and

just make sure, that my d-ck’s not left messy

jp roll the kushy in the philly that’s finesseeee

vanilly that’s the best g

no more stress g

t-tties get carresseed

lord polo ya know i stay dressied

with more kicks than messi

mixin drinks in the shade

sippin peach lemonade

puffin’ on the grade a

lord berry with the fade

cl-ssy sh-t gettin’ made

manhat gettin’ laid in

manhattan gettin paid

so my b-tch gettin’ paid

when my b-tch gettin’ paged

k!ll ya fams with a weavel

with j crew on my sleeve o

raps get medieval

dangerous like knieval

some doom for ya

got cheese like doritos

cheese like the cheeto’s

f-ck with the lilo

get shot up like greedo

my wobbles never weeble

and my bottles never cheap though

bet you n-ggas can’t sleep though

bet you n-gga’s can’t eat though

but i’m munchin on the habana feast yo

roly on my arm, right next to the rosaries

d-ck inside rosalise

f-ckin up her ovaries

twister wicho b-tch, got her bendin’ over me

the hi chew on my breath, it got her movin’ close to me

my jaw stay peach fuzzin’

like i’m kmd buzzin

shouts out to all my cousins

big app, nigs fap

but i stay gettin’ lovin

leave ya girl bl–dy and

make up real muddy then

strip the clothes of her buddy

manhat, real fat

bottles fillin up the tubbyin’

cause i’m rappin’ when i should be studyin

leave a b-tch face crusty and

my arm pits never musty and

i like my beats extra choppy

and my women never sloppy

f-ck swervin in gelapi’s

when i’m in the ‘cedes

you could try and stop me

and it’s that mr. manhattan

lost when the track spin

dabbin’ when i’m rappin’

like i’m on a crack binge

and thats that del for ya if ya didn’t know

devi comin’ through with the super ill flow

yeah mr manhattanin’

that’s what happenin’

and my su preme hat to the back in in

b-tches gettin uh f-cked in the back and in



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