KOTD Cypher Series Vol. 3

[Verse 1: Chilla Jones]
Yo why you ain't bringing Boss to the card? They want the lowdown
The wanna see Jones crown holding down the whole town
Fuck it, I'ma put on a show now, cause I'm Premier with the Terms so Watch How It Go Down
My shorty looking like a brown skin Rita Ora
She don't fuck with you niggas and you can read her aura
If I ain't writing then I'm freeing for ya
Making a name from off the head lines like we reporters
My men stroll (menstrual) on your block and pop ratchets
Nothing cramps our style more than cop badges
Pussies bleed at they pad where they got stashes
We might all peel, duck if something hot flashes
Got to prove I'm the best period
I would've put [?] in a box, dead serious
Just curious, who gon' try hurting me?
I make 'em lay sick (Lasik) with the beam that's eye surgery

[Verse 2: Ea$y Money]
Ayo I woke up from a long night, breakfast in the bed
Shorty mad cause I made her strip naked just for head
I'm a wild motherfucker, reckless on the reg'
Not a star, but in my hood, definitely a celeb
The talk of the town, the topic of the gossip
Pretty much they just could not get off of my dick
They loving my shit but cannot fix they lips to tell you
Shit is preposterously obnoxious
They know, never to pop shit because of my clip
Pop quick, leave you hospice when the shot's spit
When it comes to spitting this hot shit I cannot quick
Bars on bars like I stocked up on some chocolate
S.T. the fucking squad, nigga we got dumb guns
Find them everywhere like, "Oh shit, where that come from?"
Grind 7-8 where I come from
They ain't never sonned son, son son, we the one's they run from
So let's take it back to my battle days
Hoping for anyone to take a swing at me, I'm like the batting cage
Fuck all the gats you blaze and all your accolades
Fuck all the stacks you raise, let's hear the raps you made
Got fire for any track I blaze
Rappers, I line 'em up like a Saturday, they dropping the fattest J's
Shit make you like fat as Jay
Take a sip of the Henny, slap your mother and blow your dad away
Niggas is mad at me, but they ain't acting craz'
Give 'em the clip and in broad day, it's not a matinee
How all these cats amaze, like "Yo, don't I know you from elementary school?"
"Son go thataway"

[Verse 3: B-Magic]
Niggas thinking they spittas until they witness the greatest who ever did it
I'm killing niggas, forget it
Killing niggas and bitches, this is lyrical fitness
You with it? You want it? See Heaven? Here is your ticket
The sickest, the Paid In Full Rico & Mitch-ing
I did a lot of work in the shit and I need assistance
Stick your nose in this bullshit, who you pimping?
The one who brought the heat to the kitchen, homie I'm sizzling
Yeah, so sick I hate medicine
Talking how you stacking these Benji's but make Jeffersons
Six shots don't do it? Then take seven then
You drive then I squeeze in your whip like eight Mexicans
Popping these clips I ain't editing
The heat blow, I meant toast (Mentos) it ain't peppermint
When I say "Late night" it ain't Letterman
Motherfucker listen what I'm telling 'em

[Verse 4: Termanology]
Brown paper bully moving off the books
We all some crooks, came up on a monster jooks
Third grade started recruiting, the youngins I was polluting
Got me in a damn shooting, throwing bullets like Cam Newton
Paid your fingernails red if I see your hands moving
Couple bands, that'll get your whole family executed
Crooked cops went to scanners, they looking to pop hammers
Take a good man down and lock him up in the slammer
And I ain't scared of you rap killers with fake cannons
Acting like you Bruce Banner but walking like Bruce Jenner
Run up on yo' ass with the tool, Tim Taylor
Jean Claude Van Damme, body slam your nana
My special ed teacher told me, I'm the man with grammar
I'm like 'Pac, spitting on 'em but on candid camera
'Ology