Bet Backroom (freestyle) Lyrics

[Verse 1: Vic Mensa]
This is another one to compare me to
Before you side by side in that head-on collision
Feel the impact like a flat-bed to a caribou
My dear, you're roadkill
I'm cold-blooded, Mike Tyson can't hit me, I'm Holyfield, oh
Pee on your Q&A, f*ck your questions, f*ck suggestions
I don't need help, f*ck your
Chain, tuck your chest in
Sink your bones in the ocean, choke, you under pressure
G snatch your strap, let you buyback your gun collection
Shoot it in your vein, deadlier than a blood infection
Contractually contracting me would have to be dumb high
Blow the blessing permanently in the smoking section
Hold your breath in, kid, know your lines 'fore you overstep 'em
Hmm...I let you scheme on a rhyme scheme
Wet your 'sace shirt, get your blood-stains dry-cleaned
Pokin' the industry without a Jimmy Iovine
I'm going raw, you could feel it like a pill thats spoon-crushed
Melt on your gums like ice cream
I'm type O, anyone could get it if you with it, wilt with the pipe dreams
They say the INNANET got the Internet tweakin'
You twit con, comicon commenters deleted
I see your weakness, achilles heel in your feet its orthopedic
I'm bulimic I can't stomach your image I make you eat it
Yack and feed it back, salty season
UV me need sunscreen, tone hardly even
Obviously it's a problem
If you questioning if I'm the answer, run and play
Dog I'm in the field like a summer dance
The son of Sampson, dread head fooly in the dark
Catch a clip, it could really be a movie in the park
I'm psycho how I hitchcock the automatic rifle
Just so you don't get the wrong message like a typo
I might not sign no deal unless they up a mill
And multiply it by a few, forreal
f*ck all the glamors and glitz, I plan to get rich
I'm from Chicago, but never been a fan of your platinum hits
I could care less than a high school lunch lady with her hair net
Teared up puttin' pubes in your pear cup
Yo, the young blood bleed bluer than Ivy
If Lil Wayne came and kidnapped her out her high seat
Pass the baby to Baby to change the diapy
While Jay-Z chase her down on a Samsung Galaxy
Hi C, orange soda sippin' old Corolla whippin'
Treat your chick tonsil like a orphanage to hold my kids in
Raah raah like a dungeon dragon
Son, change your little hustle 'cause your funds is lackin'
See, my pockets empty, my nerves antsy don't try to tempt me
I set fire to Fort Knox
To foreclose Daddy Warbucks for the war on drugs
If you hatin', you stab yourself in the foot
Split your soul like a horcrux
I could board a flight just to change the seasons overnight
You boys bark ain't known to bite
My niggas'll run in your crib, flood your basement
Leave you leakin' like a broken pipe
Poke your wife on the table like salt, pork, and rice
I never swipe my Chase card, everything paid for
Your petty funding from your little label
I need the hotel, the flight, the car, the room service
The check on the PJ in the jet with the fuel burnin'
Gas in the rental with my bitch with the wheels turnin'
Spinnin' like Sprewell, if you want it come and prove to me
This is a message for anybody who listenin'
I'm Vic Mensa, pay your toll and pay attention

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