Burnt Offering Songtext
von Doap Nixon

I offer this burnt offering
A fifty bar sacrifice
For all this fake shit these niggas making
May God have mercy on your souls

Well it′s the time of the year to stack the riches
Must be that time of the month, they acting like bitches
It's Nickelbags, the flow is popping
Niggas all on my top ′cause the flow's a monster

A hustler a hustler, a pimp is a pimp
Never mix the two together 'cause your shit′ll get gripped
I′m at the top motherfucker, you at the top of the bottom
Never sweat small shit 'cause these niggas I got ′em
The album's dropping, came ill with the title
Can′t hate on a nigga when he's America′s Idol
They begging me to come harder, they begging you to retire
I ain't the type to air it out, I set niggas on fire


Your manager want a meeting, your record label's bitching
State road is packed, a lot of niggas snitching
I ain′t your average rapper, this ain′t your run of the mill
The hawk is official, the chumpies is still

So fuck beef, I'm a businessman cousin
But the love is all real, you can quit with the bugging
Cut the strings from your puppet, wanna see how they walk
Take my words out they mouth, I wanna hear how they talk
Something′s telling me to migrate
More paper up the road right off the highway
We bathe niggas with bullets and dry 'em off with heaters
Decorate the phone wire with a pair of your sneakers

Somebody ring the alarm
Don′t really care for paradise but you can bring me a bomb

It's Dope Nick, Champ, Shadeen of the underground
Them niggas ain′t shit but they can put you underground
So from now on the snubs is tucked
I get love out in Mecca, hundred thugs wanna buck
I keep a count on the bars
Cali love the sour shit, keep an ounce for the stars


My nigga Snook, word on the streets heard you getting married
Congratulations my niggas, I miss your little fairy
Facts, Deanie, Velour, Black Walt Whitman
Out of sight, out of mind but the bars'll hit 'em
Still got the fiends overdose the streets
Couple sons still trap, hope they close to peeps
I′m still doing my thizzle, still spitting the missiles
Still got time for a good gristle

Ready to give this to my little brother
Good money, same blood, same heart, different mother

My old heads is in bark mode
The streets is our crib and we live by a dark code
So kick rocks, you′re mumbling
But your words ain't nothing
Two tags the way we say stop fronting
A lot of pins, a lot of gin
Clapped at a lot of men
Make niggas jump out they skin

I know you getting all this money right
Fifty bars burnt, hope you come back with something nice

I said you getting all this money right
Fifty bars burnt, hope you come back with something nice

That′s how you set a nigga on fire man
I do this man, I do what I want
Any repercussions I'm built for
Inshallah