Artist: Freddie Gibbs & Madlib + more *
Album:  Pinata
Song:   Pinata
Typed by: Cedmaster3K

* Casey Veggies, Domo Genesis, G-Wiz, Mac Miller, Meechy Darko, Sulaiman

[Domo Genesis]
Live like '9-5, I rhyme and come alive
My grind divides fine through my divine eyes
It's primetime, you wish you could buy time but it's my time
Thoughts against I blasphemy, it's like a vice crime
I roll 'em thick and I ignite mines
I don't even get high, I just get equally back in my right mind
I'm gettin' lethal with these nice lines
Creepin' through yo' speakers, catch you sleepin' like a thief off in the night time
Young Doms, none you niggas correspond bitch
Kick the fuck out of the track, some Jean-Claude shit
Get the fuck out of the streets nigga, I bomb shit
Shit ain't all good no more, y'all on y'all con shit
Fuck is your conscience? Testin' me is nonsense
The whole city is mine, I'm the best off in my conference
Ain't feelin' me? Fine, ain't gotta listen to my shit
You can hear about me from the critics all on my dick

[Freddie Gibbs]
Bitch I've been thuggin' since the motherfuckin' ten-speed
Redbone on my handlebars, I like my bitches mixed-breed
Fill a Philly Titan with a twenty sack of stress weed
Educated, at the stove I'm workin' recipes
Reputation say I'm robbin' just for recreation
Revive my enemy with gun-to-mouth resuscitation
Can't wait 'til this little pussy nigga pay me, I'm impatient
Let's go kick in they door and strip 'em naked, leave 'em stinkin'
No witness, no weapon my nigga, the case is over
The reaper snatched him, closed casket, his family need some closure
And Moses had Ten Commandments, Huey had ten points
Won't see my homie for ten, dropped him off at the joint
Starin' at my future in my rearview
Family cried some tears, I got some years, it ain't no issue
Momma where the tissue? Saw her breakin' down, she just might cry a river
Murder one, she can't believe she raised that type of nigga

[G-Wiz]
Yeah, I tried to do right but it only got your boy fucked in the game
So I changed my mind, now I'm back on this grind tryna get this change
Niggas hate to see me gettin' it, travelin' packs with a red dot
Pointed at your knot, tryna get what you got
When the rain and the pain gon' stop?
Standin' on the porch early, no shoes, sellin' blow in my socks
And I was watchin' for the ghetto bird
Ain't got no money for college so all I know is how to sack and how to serve
I'll be damned if I miss another lick for the chips
Got me stackin', almost splurgin' on weed, syrup and whips
Niggas around my way be lovin' it, I'm Cadillac-in'
Blowin' good alligators with the belts to match
I got an ounce with an ounce to match, bust it down, get back
Hopefully maybe get the clique out the trap
I need dough like a bread baker
24/7, got ready on the turf, player
All day

[Casey Veggies]
Aw man... make 'em hop in the new coupe
Niggas been winnin', that ain't nothin' new
Forgive me for the sinnin' that they be doin' in this business
Not usin' their words to express truth
Out in the streets with a screw loose
On the Westside I got the juice
Just tell me what you tryna do
She lovin' the crew and ain't fuckin' with you
I go where the hood niggas get into it
I go where the bad girls go shop
Every window tinted but the rooftop
That money I just spend it to get you shot
Can they be hatin'? They got no reason
Right where they got me, the place I delete 'em
We kickin' on weaklings just for they little secrets
I can't believe it, the shit that I'm seein'
I'm hearin' they words, doing my readin'
It's really absurd, not enough leaders
The shit that they feed you, it's just what you eatin'
They call me young Veggies, I make it go green
Uhh, I smash your whole team
Fuck is you sayin'?
You got the candies, the niggas is sprayin'
to get away and take over the land, yeah

[Sulaiman]
My mind on capital, I'm not just rappin' dude
I'm out to speak actual factual, watch how a master moves
You ball a fist, what that gon' do? I'm from a city clappin' fools
You off the tit and lackin' while watchin' me fashion stools
Shittin' styles, you never had a hotline that I didn't dial
Little princes always tryna fit a bigger crown
But don't forget I sit amidst some seasoned gents
Them bitches knowin' he a pimp ain't even need to read the blimp
(It +Was a Good Day+) Good day to O'Shea
A +Death Certificate+ for anyone who lay in my way
You best revisit all the tombstones that lay in my wake
Me bein' knowledge, be honest, you seen the prophet get sacrificed by the opps
It get ratchet when ratchets out and they firin'
Residue on pinatas, wonder what's up inside of 'em
It's sure ain't no Vicodin cause it up and excited 'em
But they ain't get high enough, if you ain't succeed nigga, buy again and try again

[Meechy Darko]
It's the irrational type of nigga to John Madden tackle you
Steal your car keys and crash your coupe in the botanical
Wrap you with shackles, tangle you, pull from every angle, dismantle you
Watch your blood mixed with mud and stain the gravel too
Grab and shoot, ribcage open like a parachute
Close range, switchblade, poke 'em if it's personal
Blood stains, gold fangs, mask on, no trace
Murder one, closed case, stolen whip, no plates
Half a body in the trunk, go to prison, no way
Speed off the Brooklyn Bridge before I catch a cold case
Realize I'm the voice, for those who do not have a voice
So I voice my fuckin' voice, I don't have a fuckin' choice
Cold blooded, leave some niggas, well I hope you got insurance
Shotgun and shorty lift 'em like the potent in my joint
Barrels smokin' like Red Auerbach, still can't believe I'm gettin' fed on rap
I don't know what's louder, the pack or the gat

[Mac Miller]
My endorphins are morphin', absorbin' energy
Original copy "A Tale of Two Cities" gets read to me
Readin' Emerson novels, eatin' some Belgian waffles
Some powder go up my nostrils, my dick goin' down her tonsils
What's up? Play with an abacus, I've been stressin' like Catholics
That's the shit, a bit of that happiness in my cup
This generation corrupt, these people brainwashed with evil
My music is more cerebral, explorin' just what you need to
So this your exodus, Church of the Methodist
Beatin' up the pussy, have her screamin' like a exorcist
("AHHHHHHHHHHHH!")
Absorb it through your pores, the Lord with horns, a world war
Whores are more hors d'oeuvres when it's a world tour
O'Doyle rules...