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lirik lagu killa on tha beat – pimpton

(i mean at this point, ain’t none of these industry cats f*cking with the pen game
ya dig?
it’s pimpton, let’s go
yea)

k!lla on the beat, i got k!llaz in the street/
it’s the queen city king, hide the bodies in the creek/
mr big w*ng, dang a lang, reefer rolled in keef/
zim zimma, blowing on that zim zim zala beam/
money money money tree, she got pop it for a p/
left cheek, right cheek, booty jumping like a flea/
she don’t need to cook chicken, if the b*tch can roll weed/
i’ma frolic in her field, like an old plains cree/
8*20*90, here come the almighty/
don pom*pom blowing bomb, always on on/
bong fulla strong, chop more trees than paul bunyan/
before amazon, who had them packs on your front lawn/
on god what they really want, what you really want/
they put k!lla on the track, it’s gon be an onslaught/
still icing these n*ggas, i ain’t talking fondant/
dats a bet hoe, joe’s flowers won’t be budden/
i’m a vet bro, wonder how i do this no sweat yo/
adopt a b*tch please, that ain’t my hoe, that’s my step hoe/
once ago, birthed a hoe, but had to cut her loose/
heard she still out there turning more tricks than gob bluth/
i go zeus in the booth, hotter than a mink suit/
stay cooped in the booth, gas residues, crude through the roof/
cash revenue, money tree, groot through the roof/
big goat, don’t make me make you kiss my hoof with your tooth/
tie your goose to your goose, now your geese/
boy i’m dishing out heat, like a venezuelan chef in a fleece/
smoking great white shark, like a chef on the beach/
bad b*tch on my hip, she play fetch on a leash/
my style is like a breath of fresh grease/
yea i know, every line go dope, like the funk in my leaf/
that’s why er’y time i stroke, the p*ssy beatbox and qweef/
bet your dime gon soak in my sp*nk if i beat/
yeesh, i disperse like a seed/
can’t stop for pete’s sake, made roadk!ll outta pete/
knot thick like cheese cake, talking cheese like a brie/
k!lla sell it if he tell it, every verse costs a fee/
yee, get cream like a house n*gga feet/
new casa, who’s casa, can’t su casa me/
i’m the whooblackin dude stacking paper like a tree/
i just catch a thoroughbred and i break her like a breach/
drip hotter than a tea, yea i pop out like knee/
big poppa get her open, now she open like the sea/
got this mind provoking dope i’m smoking, smoking out your niche/
suckka tried to hit my blunt, but it knocked him out his t**th/
i’ma beast, if tell her drop it low she kapeesh/
if i tell the plug i’m ready for the load he can’t sleep/
if you n*ggas playing p*ssy, bet ya dog i’ma eat/
yea i smoked the whole joint, mayne iss k!lla on the beat/
(need i say more)

- pimpton

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