P-Pullz (ft. Arjay Mian, Jorrell Redsun, Q-Popi, and Stelf Index) - “9000ft.”
[Produced by Stelf Index]
[Verse 1: Jorrell Redsun]
News flash: P. Dash got you for your fucking cash
And when you tongue your girl, you’re tasting my nut and your mom’s ass
Sound’s crass, but so what? I’m is who I’m is
I’m eternal, so I don’t ask the question: can I live?
I live for today ‘cause tomorrow’s only eleven
Fifty-nine and a few milliseconds. You missed it
Simplistic mystic without fruit mixes. Three sixes
In a handstand that don’t jam. I ain’t docile
Ate a bad falafel and went to the hospital
Sued the store and turned the profits into something colossal
I run a brothel that makes chicken and waffles like Roscoe’s
Stand crooked and shit. Off-beat like whacking
During epileptic fits. Old man
From the past coming futuristic. Hit the bottle, then
The throttle, swerving role model shapeshift
Possess Moses river split. Pit shake ya
And keep your celly from my fucking pacemaker
Breaker, breaker. Breaker, breaker
[Verse 2: Stelf Index]
I nightcrawl from behind on the blind
Like being financially stressed and brainless, I pay you no mind
My flow find targets like missiles in Kosovo. Soggy fire-
-crackers never blow. No stranger—traveled with lead
In my arm to Pennsylvania/pencil-vein ya. Lure fake players in
My area with promises of ice. I pack the stadium
And burn the shit down twice. Sounds shiest but it’s nice
Sounds shiest but it’s nice—oops, the world skipped
I gain access to its axis, insert my wax in the Equator
Rock hot tracks like chicks to weaves in mid-summer
Sample lightning and thunder like taste test—bon appétit
Large appetite and Kap-er tight, right? Come to
Neighborhood wired, pull a double Mike Myers: shag it
‘Til I kill it. Austin on Halloween. Drama now
Seems like comedy. Overrun scene
Rewind that part where I ripped out his spleen—fatality
[Verse 3: Arjay Mian]
Nine grand, nine thousand feet
Yuk like spam and peanut butter on a pita
Run through rhyme and upset stomach like red light
Jump street curb if I have to attack you
(Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t) Don’t rock the boat
Or get exposed like wearing fig leaf in front of hungry goat
In Hungary. I’m hung like first dollar in store front
Money I rack. Not from Iran/I ran, but you did
Hope you’re flexible ‘cause I bend your men like
(Grant, two Jacksons, and a Hamilton)
Crazy cashier. The give-you-wrong-change-back cashier
The cuss-you-out cashier. The when-you-rob-you-get-no-
-cash-here cashier. Rip cashmere, yelling
“Get the hell out or get slapped in the mouth!”
By my bodyguard thug chick in a bulletproof push-up bra
Ba la la laaa. Now you want to be down?
Hell no. Do collabo with my elbow and rib cage
Headlock, deadlocked traffic, deadbolt
My shop spit at you lethal, Tae Bo and high
Fiber blow beat the shit out of you
[Verse 4: Q-Popi]
This brave man verbal enslave man
Force you to drag behind like horny caveman
Nothing but dust by dusk. This not your average bust
My crew can count on me like abacus. Lust like loose
Ladies after loot, drinking absolute. Throw your hands
In the air like, “Run that shit, baby, or I’ll shoot”
Now you’re stuck. Slim cash in at the aqueduct
Cool as open air ducts. Nine-thousand-feet-high
Heights don’t spook us. Thick like mucus in your Mueslix
Slick oil love cabeza, pollo in Polo sweaters
I’m all-purpose on purpose, no bullshitter
I can’t stand weak emcees like feetless action figures
How do you figure I can’t work it? Knock you
On the floor, smash your glasses, but I ain’t feeling beasty
Rhymes be free and rhymes be quick
I’m not surprised you’re on my dick
