Song Title

XV - Willy Wonkavator (Blow Up Freestyle) Lyrics

XV – Willy Wonkavator (Blow Up Freestyle) Lyrics

Look at the beats that I done buried
Tell me I can’t bless this like five Hail Mary’s
Dead is so grateful that I’m a have to tell Jerry
Clearly, I’m still going unaware of the unwary
Yeah, haters stay imaginary as five fairies in the library
Eating on snozzberries, say, I rarely got the city on my back
You Lisa Simpson niggas need to get off my saxs
I rep that deuce one. Blackjack
Riding and I’m lifting up my hood like a hatchback
Whipping in my hot wheel, ain’t riding on no snap track
I’m after Slum Dog Millions, you after Kat Stacks
Better wear a condom and a hazmat
Bitches waste my time I wouldn’t give ’em in a flashback
Rappers fill they flash drives with whack tracks
Couldn’t break a record with a glass plaque
Motherfucker, that’s that, I bag hunnies like MCM nigga
Championship ballin like Wimbledon nigga
The dudes that talk big, I never envy them niggas
They been lying since forever like MGM nigga
It’s hard to quit the bull, they be on some Jordan shit
‘Cause when you really do it, you don’t choose it, you were born in it
So I do it for my FAM and you, Florida shit
And I’m a kill a nigga on some Dexter Morgan shit
I promise mama that college just wasn’t for the kid
‘Cause I’m after the trophies you don’t box up in storages
Nobody ever sing my praises
Amazing now I’m hopping up on stages where they all singing my choruses
Said fuck a job, now all I do is fucking work
Like a naughty secretary or a slutty nurse
Got the last laugh on people who acted funny first
Hungry like the homeless but I never spit a bummy verse
Signed with Warner, now I got that Bugs Bunny smirk
What up Doc? Seven’s Spock and I’m a younger Kirk
Stay with hard lines like a Modern Warfare perk
And always throwing up my city until my tummy hurt
Dynamite life, let’s have a blast all over these bars, put it on my tab
Gunning for the roses and I’m strumming like Slash
I don’t toot my own horn, I brought the whole brass
Put my bars on the graph, everything’s proportion
‘Cause I never spit no trash, these are worth a fortune
‘Cause niggas throw me ass cap, they need Aflac
Conceited about my good tracks, I always get a bad rap
I plot my winds just like it to wear a gas mask
And my gear is high end like giraffe ass
I’m after that dollar, almost four quarters
And Warner’s about to put me in the last half