(*talking*)
All good things must come to a end, you know what I'm saying
That's the word from the lil' bird I heard, ha
Killa Gorilla nigga DJ Storm, Purple Punch the mixtape nigga
It's a wrap thank ya, thank ya Superman has just left the building
Here a lil' treat, for you motherfuckers that's still listening
If your ears open, run it Storm
(ladies and gentlemen, you already know what it is man
It's your kid Yung Chill, a Lunie-Tunez production oh boy
Ha, make bidness) they know who it is run it
(*scratching*)
[Kyleon]
It's lunch time, better yet it's crunch time
Pick up the blow put up your flow, and all your punch lines
Grab a square, break up the brick quick as a crane
Place the powder in the packs, so you can do your thang
Get your scale pyrex, and you park em
In the kitchen cooking cookies, this is culinary art
Working for 28 straight, no less than 26
Anything less than that, then you won't hit the lick
Put it in the microwave, now heat it up
Pull it out add the cold water, now beat it up
Hand me 4-7-5, and you can get your issue
I got that hard straight butter, my shit thick as grissel
I hear the fiends whistle, and niggaz need work
Call me on the burner, don't hit me on the chirp
I'm not a terrorist, but FED's on hot alert
Itching just to catch a nigga slipping, out here doing dirt
