Wooden Industry Doors

[Intro: Ironside Hex]
This is Ironside Hex
Back again donkey boy
Spencer for higher
Clever
I see what you did there Victor
Greetings to that bloke SonnyJim
Welcome to hell
I just want to say fuck rap
Fuck all of you
And fuck Trump
I hope he gets ovarian cancer
Rest in peace Sean Price
Vic you have the floor

[Verse 1: Vic Spencer]
So many eras pass by
I see everything I don’t have bad eyes
This the type of shit that make my dad cry
He was super fresh when he met my mother
That’s why my kicks out herе gravy smothered
Base substancе
Love warm laundry like I love pussy
I’m above rookies
My own empire I don’t love cookie (Naw)
Fuck looking I’m grabbing life by the coochie
Then pull out loose leaf when I write on it it’s worth two G’s
State of the art, blaze in the park
And ponder on all that bullshit, I’d rather stay in the dark
I got faith engraved in my heart
I take strides, I took death and multiplied it by twelve and got life
Woke up to a whole bunch of garbage
That’s a metaphor for rappers if you wanted to smarter
I ought to be on a higher plateau
But I don’t lack goals, I be on some other shit I don’t lactose (Naw)
Tote guns while I rub buns
Set something up with my UK connect until my other plug comes
The character that’s at the end of Inspector Gadget laughing
At all the fake gods, the devil has the samplings
That’s why you post up at the Sam’s Club
But the bigger they are the harder the party subs
Partake for our sake
The culture saturates everything from your clothes to your weight
You chose the streets and we chose the lake
We break the face of your leaders
Championship trophy by the bleachers
School of the best rappers to ever do it
Moving inside of the industry doors, they shut it in my face
I won’t stop until I get a break, it makes sense for me
Shit on all these rappers, a villain is what’s meant to be
It should be the end of the war
Still gotta stay equipped with the lyrical AR
Make moves for the heavy weight, I’m great
I’m late for the party grab the buns of your bae (Bae)
I was somewhere whipping up a difference
Better keep your mother fucking distance

[Verse 2: Guilty Simpson]
I’m top rank
You got money in the bank
File that silver spoon into a shank
It’s real on this side
Laughing at you dumb fucks
Putting thumbs up to hitch dick rides (Clown)
Sending guys at your enterprise (Enterprise)
We decide if you live or die
Getting racks off features
It’s fire when I’m on the defensive then I hack off pieces
Clowns get ripped then Imma get him for the grip (Get ‘em)
Streets found out your mouth’s bigger than your clip
What a way to go
Now you finally get your name on the radio
And you flash like seat backs
I let it rat-a-tat-tat through your hatchback
Just skirt off quick and make tracks
Got ‘em begging for a shake batch
Violate when I cross out your face tats
Like spit on Beach Street
Trying to get fit off cheap eats
Sleep deep
When I descend and grim reap
Your heart beat line flattened then beeped

[Sample: [?]]
What do you want?
Baby don’t you know I got it?
What do you need?
Baby baby don’t you know I got it?