uh…h*llo…new mixtape b*tch…iz called da drout 3 [laughs] …
yeah…this was supposed to be the intro, but uhm…
i guess ima gonna uhm…do what yall came here for…
[in rastafarian voice]
yeah…rasta dem king of the jungle,
dread lock swing down me back like reppunsle.
my bread don’t swing. dem packs in a bundle;
we’ll take your tings, sell it back to your uncle.
and we’ll make it rain till your dances will come true;
we’ll make it rain so you betta bring a swimsuit.
alone when i came, but i’m leavin with them two;
gals give me brain, give me brain like temples.
and him got the game, game sharp like a pencil;
and if you want formage we can crash like a symbol.
and let prepare me window, on my new sports coupe;
twelve ho*rs*s in the hood, sittin on ho*rs* shoes.
come from the land that jesus walked through;
sacrifice me life, man i bleed for me uncle.
them no want to run, run with me them no want to;
murder them, and the family them belong to.
next ting them kno i run a street like a cardoor;
you go after me, me i dearly depart you.
hip hop is mine now, mine what you gone do?;
i can jump on any n*gg* song and make a part two.
playtime for me, cuz see to me, they are cartoons;
how come every joint be on point like a harpoon?
how come evry bar stand strong like a barstool?;
how come every line is so raw you gone snort too?
murder them. man i murda them. f*ck a compet*tion, man i murda them.
man murda them. man i murda them. f*ck a compet*tion, man i murda them. [laughs] …
[in regular] and that is why i’m hot…
its da drought 3, welcome.