Dead Presidents

[Heth "Ink" Lee]

IcYHoT the blocc, the cream of the crop.

To 2Pac the PacSun, the jury that hung.

And we Samsung the young, to load ur gun.

When talk is cheap, and no longer fun.

To D.C. the breeze, the Beast of the Sea.


To minime the fee, the trees, the Bottomless Pit Key.

The 40/40 Degree in the artic 80's.

So the snow that melt, and you felt this rhyme.

May I remind you it wasn't easy to commit this crime.


And standing in line doesn't mean it's coke.

The throat that chokes, this the forklore boat.

To flood ur mind with pieces and parts.

So you settle with Skittles, and the candy Sweet Tart.


But nothing's sweet, to defeat and to admire.

The sire that hires, this the Lake of Fire.

To do the Best Buyer, to make this song cry.

Because I don't say shit, doesn't mean I'm shy!