Trippy Tyler — Hive Remix

[Verse 1: AVC] Uh The shit I'm spittin' is spreading quicker that reddit Supervillian detective with superstition embedded Who is the fuckin' gem in a used Buick and shreddin' on 377 with 3 .357's Straight stellar like, lock you in a cellar tight, flowin' like the mother fuckin' engine on a severed bike Omnific, stuck with a bar hittin' a flow that's bizzare nigga, a poet who starts spittin' like Back to the shit that was my signature before Back to the spittin' that was gettin' me support I am feeling no remorse, with a spittin' so endorsed, in this fuckin' game, I made my bitch my writtens were the whore Bold ploy, I'm toying with old soy, and throwin' a dinosaur at a 4 year old bored boy I'm back bitch, kill tracks, no adlibs, acid tablets for Buddha Stoops when thay rappin Faggots, this is not your passage, get back in action, before you get that ass kicked, bitch [Verse 2: Trippy Tyler] '94 born so this hip hop is in me Not in your sorts, I don't want rocks and Bentley's I'd throw, rocks, at Bentley's so you know that I'm the opposite of kidding, moderate deflecting, 'Tauga Spartans in your city, Boston bombing if your dissing, coffins get to droppin' I ain't talkin' Hall's for healing, but I might, cough and drop, when them bong rips hit me, blotter strips and sheets, half a bottle of some Henny, Imma off 'em all quicker than a toddler in a Hemi, then I fuck a bitch, just because she pretty, tad bit thicky, kind of picky, but the clothes she rock is kind of thrifty, gave her good dicking left some hickeys on her titties Smoked her out with hella weed, I lost count of Swisher Sweets, she rollin' no ecstasy, now she, next to me, and sextin' me cause she don't want her ex to see, she not into uppers cause she love how this southern mother fucker is fuckin' beats Without a rubber, he spittin' raw, undeveloped kids up in your bitches jaw, Alhamdulillah Praise your mother fuckin' gods, raised by bluffer huntin' dogs, that's probably why, when he eats its always fuckin' raw He got anonymous nonsense, all in his conscience, Amat Victoria Curam, pitch bended for ominousness, now yall sit and get lost in this, Imma faucet of vomit, my flow sick and I think I got knowledge, I'm like Nostradamus nauseous, flippin' big birds no ostrich, not gonna stop till I'm not, not rich My, plot to stop, this pop hip hop shit, is poppin' off quick like cops, when robbers dippin' off with the contents Its embedded in my head to behead anybody better so I guess its guillotine to my neck and my writtens in a shedder, reassuring never, even if my time was present, I got such a gift of spittin' I'd be resurrected better