#TBE The Curse Of Mayweather

Timothy Elpadaro Thedford

Can I kick it? Yes you can!
Drop a bomb on they ass
Son of Man, Son of Man
Can I kick it? Yes you can!
Drop a bomb on they ass
Son of man son of man
Can I kick it?

Like Ronda Rousey
Talk a lot of shit on social media on Friday
Get that ass kicked Saturday
Wake up Sunday, ill and drowsy
Duckin' through the airport Monday mornin' feelin' lousey
Yep, these are the breaks
Yep, is it karma or is it fate?
Yep, you're now rockin' with the great
I told you motherfuckers me and destiny had a date
Look, I came in the game in the name of The Messenger
On the inside of my black trick bag I had a plethora
Electrified the pulse of the game at the core like Tesla
And penetrated every realm of society like Kissinger
Special Officer Flowers in the army of the lord
Commander of forgotten angels at home and abroad
As sure as the Motherplane is the Throne of Fard
I swear to go the stone and come home with the sword
It's globally known, I float on the track like the coast guard
Every pigeon I spit is like a train or a postcard
It's magic the way I created fame out of folklore
And got bigger than Tom Hanks when he was playing by the Zoltar
I'm shinin' my light with the passion of Christ, haters
The force has awakened, I'm brandishin' my lightsaber
Starin' in the mirror every mornin' as I pause
Carressin' the scars from the brawls and wars that this life gave us

Can I kick it? Yes you can!
Drop a bomb on they ass
Son of man, son of man
Can I kick it? Yes you can!
Drop a bomb on they ass
Son of man, son of man

This is blasphemy, Jeymes, this is blasphemy
I gave that lil' cockroach life, and he blasted me
Niggas made all those memes, and they laughed at me
It's World War 3, mothafucka, the catastrophe
Watch the throne, my nigga, watch the throne
How you gon' compare the king to a gnome?
How you gon' compare Jango Fett to the clones?
The game can celebrate today cause daddy's home
He's got eleven Grammy nominations, y'all not equal
Man fuck these white people!
My grandma died at 82, scrubbin' floors
And niggas still runnin' 'round beggin' for awards
Is he Jedi or is he Sith?
Is he Neo in the Matrix or Mr. Smith?
I might be on Periscope gettin' pissed
Talkin' reckless, contemplatin' all out war with Fif'

Can I kick it? Yes you can!
Drop a bomb on their ass
Son of man, son of man
Can I kick it? Yes you can!
Drop a bomb on their ass
Son of man, son of man

Light a candle, mama, light a candle
Allah sent me to smack fire outta sambo
I got nothin' to lose, might as well take a gamble
I'm on the plantation, guns blazin' like Django
I know, you heard it all a million times, huh?
The feelin' gone, now all you hear is rhymes, huh?
George Zimmerman still walkin' 'round huh?
And Trayvon still layin' in the ground huh?
I showed up to the game with no practice like Iverson
Now they want to keep me in exile like Gadaffi son
'Cuz they told me that the Rothschilds rule the world
So I went over to England like a Black God and got me one
Straight facts, I don't send no lies
Ask Ty Ty, real black skin don't fry
They scared of Jay Elec yeah and men know why
Cause I might turn the Roc into the NOI
Can I kick it?

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Das Lied “#TBE The Curse Of Mayweather” von Jay Electronica wurde von Timothy Elpadaro Thedford komponiert.

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