mr. manhattan – anorak lyrics
[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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