Bouty Johnson - Obama Phone Lyrics

Rap game, Obama phone Tell the debt collectors, leave my mom alone
What's up next, selector? I provide the poem I'm like, yes, I'm the best on the microphone
I'm like, what the f*ck was you planning to do
When I rap on the track, it's like Campbell's with soup
You got rapophobia, you abandon the booth Unless you getting tanned, damn, man, I'll hand you a noose
The guh-guh-find, the highest tree Die, please, don't even try and breathe
Motherf*cker, you know you ain't as nice as me, but I'm nice, MC
I'll eat up like rice and beans, my mind's like dynamite
Combine with China, white bleed I ain't trying to fight for the tiny mice cheese
You blinded by the light, in sight, what I need
While you buying weed, I'm trying to fly through the sky breeze
Tonights the night that I might write sheets Get right with my zeitgeist freaks LSD and Hi C
While I practice tai chi Find me where the best rhymes be
Bitch, you got flesh, just like me Spike Lee in HD, but I'm white like cream
Man, you rock tight jeans, and your socks lime green You the cops in this big hip-hop crime scene
Yeah, I know they gonna hate on the style Cause it's really been a while
But they can't tell that I get down
Yeah, I know it's been a while I know they really gonna hate on the style
But I get down
Oh shit, off the dome, I spit as if Al Capone exists
The throne gets stripped, I own the moment, bitch, you don't exist
Microphones explode when I flow through it They get stoned through my poems, you ain't dope a bit
I overdose through a pen when I'm composing a gem
It's like I'm holding a syringe that'll poke your skin
You better know your opponent, I'm always coaching to win
Are you the type to be downloading the trends
But I ain't focused on the hopeless, no, I don't notice them
Gather roaches for my sofa, load a bow on my friend
You girl looking like Mocha, let the lotion go, soak in your skin
I'm like, f*ck everything, don't trust anything
Lyrics like dust in a blunt, plus ketamine
You get high when I just spit rhymes
Proper stimuli, you might fly
Caveman, Batman in a cape with some Ray-Bans
Bumpin' Drake cause he drops better bars than you fakes can
And no, we can't shake hands, graffiti
Turntables, rhymes, and breakdance
Yeah, with these four elements
And we take off like George Jefferson
Wanna go to war, bring more weapons in
Dog, dinosaur, more raw than you ever been
Hey doc, where you store all the medicine
Brains pop, the chainsaw is pleasurin
But I don't condone violence, I'm stuck at home wildin
Blaze a blunt Rhode Island