Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
Buck 65
I’m throwing wack rappers in the trash can with the junk mail
Fashion -posing like they’re upscale. I’m Joe-fucking-Lunchpail
Young males become frail. Hidden away like a sickly royal
Avoid disappointment remain strictly loyal to Ricky Doyle
Covered in sticky oil and going off the deep end. Grimy
Crazy beats. JVC RC-M90
You know where to find me. Chilling. Living in a snow cave
No grave can hold me. You’re getting hit by a rogue wave
Close shave. Your style is fragile like ceramic
Throw me in a dungeon but power doesn’t panic
Mechanical animal. Sharp teeth and snarls darkly
Don’t wanna talk. Two-handеd tomahawk. Charles Barkley
I’m losing my marbles. I’m dеmented
So many styles I invented
And I’m dedicated. Solemnly sworn
And I’m letting knowledge be born
Shark mode. Going down a dark road. Crusader
Lay claim. Take aim. Shoot the invader. Communicator
Drum break accumulator. One-take demon waiting
Clear print - near mint. European grading though
Fading slow. You can’t see me like a microbe
Wearing a white robe. Yo, I’m hard to kill like Loab
Maniac psycho. Chi Ali. We believe
Quick turns. Sick burns. They’re classified in three degrees
I’m Nanook of the north country. I crack a cold Palm Bay
Say farewell. I’ll send you back - straight to hell like Dante
To complicate matters, these rappers are small radius
Standing in the tall shadow of the gods, I’m the shadiest
Serious. I send love to the good people of Syria
The samurai. Gratified. I meet the criteria
Casting a wide net that properly covers the verse
I’ll make your shit look worse like the Property Brothers