Riggs & Murtaugh feat. Action Bronson - Reks, Action Bronson

Seven survivors sire, record was set afire

Jealous envious liars, paper, pencil supplied a

Tempo ammo and he handle any vandal vying

Against my tribe of scribers do or die writing for lifers

This is orange bearded Bronson magnet shorties think I’m Spanish

We never rocking sandals.

You see me copping pandas

The drums are heaven paired with lamb encrusted mustard sauce

I’m done with salmon every time they came the drugs were tossed

World revolves, cycles turn, psychos turn pill poppers

Suicidal wheel riders, skill harkers, architect the thought

Of dark to prosper Oscar for thespian talkers

Action and Reks equals bonkers bars— MFing monsters

Yes, sir.

Tantric positions with his wifey on the baby bed

Blatant disrespect

Root of evil on cassette

Eating seasonal and fresh.

Leaving semen on the chest

The young Morgan Freeman people skiing on the vest

Yeah.

Live from the bully pulpit—where we Geppetto, puppets

Your nose is growing hold you’ll be showing as soft as smut is

Without the pussy showing penetration generation renovation

Destroy, rebuild: innovation.

Ink a statement on your cranium

Painting steeples and stadiums, scrapings and shading them

Success colors I’m braving sun.

Faded lungs, polluted kidney

I’m due to kick the bucket young.

Fuck it— flung a finger, let ‘em all come

Got all women making plaster twisting naturals this is practice

Tempurpedic mattress, pussy like a catfish

She like it backwards.

Many passengers have passed through

She getting ran through quick wit slurping the cash in my grip whip

Got a sick clique known to nibble on a bitch tit

Hear the silence then a click click, no alliance peace to big vick

Word to science, only your salmon is a pink slit

And fuck the diamonds—slice up the cheeses with the string shit

Get your crucifixes ruthless lyrics from booth’s truest lyricists

Is this is vantage business bar business penny chasing channels face it

Fingers clink and it’s great.

Make men flinch;

look—

Slaves to my rhyme book— shook

Y’all Girl Scout cookie pushing talking crooked yellow spine rhyme

Mob of shook ones, how you find time to be pitching and be scripting

To be robbing and be jotting to be spitting and be plotting

Your two cents don’t make a dime