IMPORTANT: Rap Genius already has a version of this song:
URL:http://rapgenius.com/Dj-ill-will-cypher-lyrics

[Verse 1: Kid Ink]
I said it's Kid Ink baby, turnt to the Maxx like T.J.,
Body tagged up like the bottom of the freeway
Game on lock you n***as need to get a key made
Run this shit it ain't nothing but a relay
It ain’t nothing you can tell us
'Bout to roll up kush sticky like Elmer’s
This ain’t no high act like summer
Going head up with me? Bring a motherfuckin' helmet!
You n***as just Special Ed.,
All I see is green but my eyes so red
And all I do is win got a room full of clouds
'Bout to take another shot, but I’m used to the fouls
I'm ballin', you could take two to the mouth
It's Alumni, throw it up two to the south
Tell them deuces, just put two in the air
So sick, said it must be the flu in the air
If you do it big then I prolly did it obese
Thought it was a dream but I ain't never get no sleep
Up all night, gettin' higher then a nosebleed
Swear I was raised by beasts like Mowgli
Came from the bottom, rats and the roaches
Now n***as blunts ain't as fat as my roaches
'Bout to go H•a•m y'all n***as just kosher
I’ma shark in the water see the fin and it's over...
[Verse 2: Meek Mill]
Ay bitch! They been sleepin' on me
Time for me to wake 'em up
Countin' all these fucking Bennies
'Till I get a paper cut
Kill the competition
I bomb 'em then I make 'em up
Only time we 'Black and Yellow'
When the 'caution' tape is up,
Ha! That record dead, memory of
Spittin' that crack, this really is drugs
It's hate in the air, I ain’t feelin' the love
You like a irritatin' fly; I’m killing your buzz
I’m eating the beat, this is Pacman
I’m on the grind like a mu'fuckin' lap dance
Shorty gon' do whatever, say she's a rap fan
Erry n***a 'round me: robbin' -- Batman
All black coupes, all black wheels
Step out the line, I'mma show you how that MAC feel
I’m like Cibelli on the corner in a backfield
Run, move or get yo mufuckin' cap peeled
Rollin' in this murder engine
Purrin' through yo neighborhood
Let my money do the talkin'
I ain't gotta say I'm good
Goonies that'll gun ya down
I ain’t gotta say I would
Ridin' like an engine bitch
I ain’t gotta say I’m hood...
I tell a ho to follow me or swallow me
I be spending money like I fuckin' hit the lottery
If I ever hit your girl then this is my apology
Cause suckas they be trippin'
'Bout these bitches tryna body me...
[Verse 3: Los]
I’m about to go: over 'round my arm
Leader winnin' I could feel it now
Towel around my head
Taliban knock ya building down
High cock blocker, I’m a fly top shotta
In my all red Range like a high top Prada
On my Momma's mouth through the drama
And life would be drippin'
From my lips as I'm spitting that shit
That Osama be grippin'
Hungry as a poverty stricken, robbery victim
With a Roscoe's 'waffles and chicken'
Winnin' 'Lottery Ticket'
And your girl let me pop it in real life
I 'Beat It' like they locked me in a room
With the doctor that killed Mike
I feel like: put me in a field let the field lights
Shine on the field now watch me kill all the field mice
I'm anthrax you Tampax, I'm 'bout to go Amtrax
Jack Black, blackjack, got the track Saran wrapped
Stand back I’m slammin' a antagonist
Slapping you faggots puttin' a can in the bandwagon it's:
Swag of the century, mack in a bitch or three
I heard the head was nothin' tryna crack it eventually
Rappers they mention me, boy I put this on my mother
You’ll end up Interscope, I'm just tryna Warner Brother
Still gettin' cheesecake on these dummies
Deal or No Deal, I got a briefcase full of money
Jahlil on the beat, Will hostin' this shit
And it's T. Lanez, Ink, Meek and Los in this bitch...
[Verse 4: Tory Lanez]
I, get any instrumental I get a switch in the mental
Ya bitch in the rental she positions my dick in her dental
Ya know my bitch is a yellow-bone, on Yellowstone
Double scoop, chocolate women on my vanilla cone
Yellin' cause I'm very gone, yes I'm on a cherry bone
Things seem quicker than a ping hit your Berry phone
Y'all don't wanna talk about ballin' bar-e-ly Larry Holmes
Money never growin' like a fuckin' young Gary Cole-Man
Veteran, batter up, bat her in, it's a
End to you rappers like the letter after M and I'm a
Lamborghini n***a, n***a you could never see me I'm the
Shhh, triple 'H'; you gon' have to pedigree me bitch I'm
Ready for the beef like it's some lettuce in between me
You got eenie meenie money, teeny like the youngest primie
And even if you n***as is trippin' still could never see me
Or beat me with three wishes and a mu'fuckin' genie
Scared? It ain't fair when I play a record on ya
Weird and you square; I could play checkers on ya
Rap-pers, y'all ac-tors
And I rip this track 'til it's tra-ck
I, rollerblade; let it ride
Show my face; televised
Dot to ya top like the lowercase letter 'i'
I fly higher than a sci-fi flyer
Fire like I'm five lighters, brighter than I hi-lighter
(Swavy) Oops, I'm in the loop for time
This a European whip check the coupe design
Time is money is the building and the truth inside
Goon shoot ya in ya head make ya lose ya mind, for real...