Fred The Godson | Funk Flex | #Freestyle072

[Verse 1: Fred the Godson]
We still strive for perfection
Shout out to New York, I like the direction
On the phone with my brother, he in correction
My bars up, we'll always have a connection
Glock for protection act big get ya Coogi clapped
Red dot him from the phone like it's Google Maps
You can rap but I'm harder, why?
I run up on ya Range, turn into Lil' Wayne and give ya car the five
Pardon my different delivery
That crack house in the Bronx, this what it did to me
Now we let the base cook, and show the white girl
So she'll network like Twitter and Facebook
It's my word we had seven a scale
You used to work wit' a bird like Kevin McHale
Now you got these Xannies, Percs and OxyContins
Youngin' told me Fred it works, the block is rockin'
Who am I to tell him different
These rappers far from nice, who am I to tell the distance
Hearing what you write I don't know why you so persistent
Send me half your budget, I may could be of assistance
Past bars I'm in, they call your girl Kim
'Cause every time the car dash, she in
Word clips well
Two guns named Kelly and B so it won't be a missed shell
Y'all can't be talking to me
After my show I have to be 4th in the V
King of New York, Christopher Walken and me
Biggie and Pun, both Christophers walking in me
New body Tahoe, the blocks swerving
Since March 9th never did like them box Suburbans
Now you got something bright with high beams
Or get a clear drop and call it the Visine
What y'all looking for?
Can't Fred the God spit bars anymore?
Let my flow sag down to the floor
Have y'all thinkin' 'bout every metaphor
Nah Flex, they don't wanna hear it
They can't get near it, so they fear it
So I'm ridin' on niggas who interfering
Won't stop till you pussies bleed, period
Hustlin', I can't stop it
Like Chris Paul I might clip it or rock it
Lawyer pay day
Wavin' the battery, Radio Raheem and the Asians
I do the right thang, when I write thangs
Tryna stay true, that's the right thang
Watching CNN that's my wife thang
I'm N.O.R.E., I'm bumping C-N-N while baggin' up the white thang
Product of the ghetto though
The D's on our heels and we still let O's go
Heels, notice I said stilettos
Steel, long nose, Gepetto
Pedal to the metal you in a race with the devil
Get you erased in that Louis, you in LV I'm the rebel
Armed yes, arm rest in the Buick
Might be the best that ever do it
Uh, wrist frozen
I going on rap tours 'til you find a garage to put the Rolls in
Tell your entourage I goes in
Shooters outside your aunt's garage, you owe him
What you expect?
Every shot'll be silent, you in debt
In debt the B is silent
And in the BX we known for being violent
Clap that heat everybody they gon' squeeze
Like cheap-ass seats, everybody he knows bleeds
We gon' see
New York City I'm what ya' flow need
And knowing the streets fuck wit' you
And I never sold my soul I could sleep comfortable
Give your parents credit that blow, they keep comin' through
We're paid til' your mother is clear Denise Huxtable
Gordo writin' again
Why I wasn't on the cypher again?
I don't know, I just know not many rappers is nicer than him
I bring that metaphor life to the pen
I'm tryna win like Hurricane Matthew doin'
Pill slow, I hurry 'caine, what math you doin'?
If it's 'bout a dollar you could hit me, new feel
In my pocket Monica Lewinsky, blue bill

[Chorus: Jaquae]
Tell me what the lick read, ooh
I'm ridin' in the six-speed
Before we get reported and Trump get us deported
Papi, another brick please
Another brick please
Another brick please
Like I said, another brick please
Another brick please
A thousand grams

[Verse 2: Fred the Godson]
Early morning stove like six somethin'
Break it down to O's 'cause the strip bubblin'
It's fresh out the brick oven
I can put you on your feet or put you under six of 'em
Regardless I'm the hardest
Artist, ever as far as bars is, cartridge hit your cartilage
This infrared light'll turn a dark-skin nigga to the DeBarges
Who want it wit' me?
My shooters carry two four-fives like a quarter to three
Can't tell what I might spit
Like Pippen in Salt Lake City I carry the mic sick
Gordo

[Chorus: Jaquae]
Tell me what the lick read
I'm ridin' in the six-speed
Before we get reported and Trump get us deported
Papi, another brick please
Another brick please
Another brick please
Another brick please
A thousand grams

[Verse 3: Fred the Godson]
Wit' six rings
I'm Jordan, number one, two-three, four-five, got six rings
He wore two-three, four-five, I spit 'caine
Flow lazy, I say it ain't a big thang
It's just the way I deliver the
Lyrics to a song
Maybe I'm tryna flow like Christopher
While this is going on
Y'all whole list is flowin' wrong
I ran to my grandma no man is seeing me
I'm from a land where we plan to blam 'em in secrecy
I can manage to damage a amateur uh easily
Now watch your mouth like Jerome spoke
Still move that dove like it's my own soap
Still talkin' that base around grown folk
Like I'm at the table with Barry White and Tone Loc
I get the pan on it
Like I'm in Martin apartment, I spray some Pam on it
Put the grams on it
I rarely eat pork, I don't even like money wit' Abraham on it