Kyd - C-Tizzy (feat. Pats) Lyrics

The G-O-D, that's broadly what they call me
Come poli' with the Godly
Putting all fleets in the hot seat
Then the broccolis on the boss feet
Only top fleet when I drop these
Embody moxie of Mahatma Gandhi, properly jot heat
It's been rocky with the small city blues
In solid pursuit of monopolies, loot, getting it stocked, we
Get to dropping these tunes and bombing these crews
Then honestly, soon we get to seeing all MCs copy
But my Odyssey's splendid, flaming who block me
From a dollar tree endless, making moves suavy
Want to Versace these lenses, lace the blue Wallys
Far as Taraji P. Hensons, slayed a few probably
Autopsies, just go see I RIP your whole team
When harmonies will scold beats, in varsities they clothe me
I get loaves when the scene's indeed conquered
Don't give a bitch dough but she leave with cream on her
Make money money, make money money
Make money money, make money money
Got to make that money now
Got to stack that money pal
Make money money, make money money
Make money money, make money money
Got to make that money now
Got to stack that money pal
Ctown profound, the word it gets around
That Kyd and Pats back on the mound
Yeah, we see ya frown
Haters f*cking drown
Heavy is the head that wear the crown and I'm sinking
Gave up on rap, what the f*ck was I thinking?
But now I'm back and this feeling is forever
I thank you all for being on this musical endeavour
Now listen to me flow, as I float like a feather
On this beat you know my cypher complete
Alive in the streets, nobody hold it down like me
Kick a funky rhythm in my sleep
I do this out of love not a secret I would keep
When you find that little passion inside of you
Don't let that beat skip
Guaranteed to feel sick
Never let it slip, hold the grip cus life's a trip
Make money money, make money money
Make money money, make money money
Got to make that money now
Got to stack that money pal
Make money money, make money money
Make money money, make money money
Got to make that money now
Got to stack that money pal
You see bro you see the most panache
The most regal of chaps, cerebral's intact
The Leo DiCaprio of rap
Freak hoes keep those lips on meat closed to splash
A skeet load if she go deep throat the mack
Peep steelo in sheep coats they bespoke to flash
They'll cede thrones on each coast in fact
Even my b-rolls will steamroll your ass
No cap, I'm still the one repping
The illest professing the skills on a record
Krills when I'm wrecking, bitch
Fulfilling objectives, peeling the lettuce
Scrill in possession, the realest in essence
Revealing the epic shit
The attack of the maniac masterminds
Lay them flat fast when the K and that Pats combine
To climb, we got stamped plans to build
No damn chance you're ill, we'll Van Damme your grill, for real
Make money money, make money money
Make money money, make money money
Got to make that money now
Got to stack that money pal
Make money money, make money money
Make money money, make money money
Got to make that money now
Got to stack that money pal