Bulletproof Denali - Speak

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Son of a gun, I guess my father was a bayonet

Ambien will keep me calm, I pop 'em like they Raisinets

I’m bumping ravenets so loudly up on my cassettes

I love 'em, leave' em, fuck 'em, never call

Now they get upset

What the fuck is popping?

They say that Speak is popping

Air Force Ones laced up, okay, I get to stomping

I swear to God, I could’ve been a St. Lunatic

Got all the pretty Muslim girls on my Jewish dick

Praise be to Allah, Based God, and Jesus

And the eco-friendly hoochies whipping in the Prius

They call me an elitist and my attitude is cocky

But rapping just a hobby, I’m the Sheikh of Abu Dhabi

So bring me all your oil, bring me all your gold

And wipe your fucking feet when you step in my abode

I know you make the rules, but my people don’t abide

And if you want to die, okay, I’m happy to oblige

Gas in the dash and my bitch riding shotty

I’m 'bout to live forever in my bulletproof Denali (Even if you kill me!)

In my bulletproof Denali (I ain’t ever gonna die!), in my bulletproof Denali

Gas in the dash and my bitch riding shotty

I’m 'bout to live forever in my bulletproof Denali (Even if you kill me!)

In my bulletproof Denali (I ain’t ever gonna die!), in my bulletproof Denali

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Westside, Art Goon, Craigslist Killer

Son of a bitch, I guess my momma was a Saint Bernard

I’m all about the pervert life, okay, my dick is always hard

I feel like Ma$e when he was dancing in the shiny suits

If I cut my wrists tonight, I’d bleed one-hundred-ninety proof

Bluetooth headsets while I’m having sex

I’m on a conference call, I’m busting nuts, I’m getting checks

I’m checking for the chubby girls, but now I need a MILF

With tubes tied, they don’t need the morning-after pill

Morning after kills, my blunt is filled with daffodils

They ask me why I’m rapping still, well, Sony owe me half a mill

They say I’m next to blow, but my music need a plan

But rapping just a hobby, I’m the emperor of Japan

So bring me all your geishas and my kimono robe

And bow your fucking head when you step in my abode

I know you make the rules, but my people don’t abide

And if you want to die, okay, I’m happy to oblige