Verse 1 Vinum don’t follow the trends or childish challenges. Flying through skies on Icarus wings, chasing a Pegasus. Diabolical anarchist, flow nasty like syphilis. Fuck your baby mama , after she makes me sandwiches. Vicious vernacular, somersault on beats spectacular. Cause planetary devastation, to challenging rappers. Lyrical master, dressed dapper, linen suite colored beige. Ghetto sage sharing wisdom, in a doo-rag and braids. Dodged police raids, hiding in Maine eating lobsters. Freeman sent the beat, so the beast could go bonkers. Another speaker knocker, heavy like an anvil. Serve MC’s I kill, on a George Foreman grill. How to scare a thumb thug, online faking their clout. Show-up at their job, or park in front of his mama’s house. I move thru the shadows, of ghetto environments. Where fallen soldiers are remembered, by Graffiti on cement. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 2 You talk about being a rhyme killer, but I really am. Placate your man, before I put him in a box like spam. Vinums a warlord with battle scars, “G” without jeans or star. Evolved to control four elements, like Aang the avatar. Move through cities without a team, cuz I don’t need niggaz. Most ballers go broke, flossing in front of greedy niggaz. Vinum’s an industry terror, wearing Nubuck timberlands. Lyrical champion, boning tennis chicks from Wimbledon In life you have to earn what you want, or take what ur given. Hard living from sinning, and naughty positions with women. But I’m winning, I don’t pop bottles vinum drink straight liquor. Then go to the zoo, feed rappers to the lions for dinner. Spine shifter, more of a writer, than gangsta or mobster. Media images confuse real catz, with the imposters. I spread love, peace, knowledge and global unity. But I’ll bury anything, over my money or family. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 3 It’s Vinum, spittin with that kannibaal style. Peace to Mad Milla and Slisco, Pitu niggaz get wild. I got that unique flow, I’ll say whatever I think. Mix English and Dutch, like rum and coke in a drink. Take your mind to the brink of insanity, push you over. Spike aluminium bat, knock that chip off your shoulder. Pull the gun out your holster, the bullets will never hit. I spit high velocity missiles, make craniums split. Mr. Poizonous, exists for anyone that can relate. To crawling out the gutter, changing their own fate. Know some Surinam cats, who gun clap and still rap. Put your body on a rack, stretch your back till it snaps. I naturally adapt, to any cipher that I spit in. Freestyle sometimes, but now it’s mostly written. Grimy is how I’m living, a million then I’m splitting. Be in Thailand with a girl, my hands rubbing her kitten. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out.

Verse 1 Vinum don’t follow the trends or childish challenges. Flying through skies on Icarus wings, chasing a Pegasus. Diabolical anarchist, flow nasty like syphilis. Fuck your baby mama , after she makes me sandwiches. Vicious vernacular, somersault on beats spectacular. Cause planetary devastation, to challenging rappers. Lyrical master, dressed dapper, linen suite colored beige. Ghetto sage sharing wisdom, in a doo-rag and braids. Dodged police raids, hiding in Maine eating lobsters. Freeman sent the beat, so the beast could go bonkers. Another speaker knocker, heavy like an anvil. Serve MC’s I kill, on a George Foreman grill. How to scare a thumb thug, online faking their clout. Show-up at their job, or park in front of his mama’s house. I move thru the shadows, of ghetto environments. Where fallen soldiers are remembered, by Graffiti on cement. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 2 You talk about being a rhyme killer, but I really am. Placate your man, before I put him in a box like spam. Vinums a warlord with battle scars, “G” without jeans or star. Evolved to control four elements, like Aang the avatar. Move through cities without a team, cuz I don’t need niggaz. Most ballers go broke, flossing in front of greedy niggaz. Vinum’s an industry terror, wearing Nubuck timberlands. Lyrical champion, boning tennis chicks from Wimbledon In life you have to earn what you want, or take what ur given. Hard living from sinning, and naughty positions with women. But I’m winning, I don’t pop bottles vinum drink straight liquor. Then go to the zoo, feed rappers to the lions for dinner. Spine shifter, more of a writer, than gangsta or mobster. Media images confuse real catz, with the imposters. I spread love, peace, knowledge and global unity. But I’ll bury anything, over my money or family. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 3 It’s Vinum, spittin with that kannibaal style. Peace to Mad Milla and Slisco, Pitu niggaz get wild. I got that unique flow, I’ll say whatever I think. Mix English and Dutch, like rum and coke in a drink. Take your mind to the brink of insanity, push you over. Spike aluminium bat, knock that chip off your shoulder. Pull the gun out your holster, the bullets will never hit. I spit high velocity missiles, make craniums split. Mr. Poizonous, exists for anyone that can relate. To crawling out the gutter, changing their own fate. Know some Surinam cats, who gun clap and still rap. Put your body on a rack, stretch your back till it snaps. I naturally adapt, to any cipher that I spit in. Freestyle sometimes, but now it’s mostly written. Grimy is how I’m living, a million then I’m splitting. Be in Thailand with a girl, my hands rubbing her kitten. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out.

Verse 1 Vinum don’t follow the trends or childish challenges. Flying through skies on Icarus wings, chasing a Pegasus. Diabolical anarchist, flow nasty like syphilis. Fuck your baby mama , after she makes me sandwiches. Vicious vernacular, somersault on beats spectacular. Cause planetary devastation, to challenging rappers. Lyrical master, dressed dapper, linen suite colored beige. Ghetto sage sharing wisdom, in a doo-rag and braids. Dodged police raids, hiding in Maine eating lobsters. Freeman sent the beat, so the beast could go bonkers. Another speaker knocker, heavy like an anvil. Serve MC’s I kill, on a George Foreman grill. How to scare a thumb thug, online faking their clout. Show-up at their job, or park in front of his mama’s house. I move thru the shadows, of ghetto environments. Where fallen soldiers are remembered, by Graffiti on cement. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 2 You talk about being a rhyme killer, but I really am. Placate your man, before I put him in a box like spam. Vinums a warlord with battle scars, “G” without jeans or star. Evolved to control four elements, like Aang the avatar. Move through cities without a team, cuz I don’t need niggaz. Most ballers go broke, flossing in front of greedy niggaz. Vinum’s an industry terror, wearing Nubuck timberlands. Lyrical champion, boning tennis chicks from Wimbledon In life you have to earn what you want, or take what ur given. Hard living from sinning, and naughty positions with women. But I’m winning, I don’t pop bottles vinum drink straight liquor. Then go to the zoo, feed rappers to the lions for dinner. Spine shifter, more of a writer, than gangsta or mobster. Media images confuse real catz, with the imposters. I spread love, peace, knowledge and global unity. But I’ll bury anything, over my money or family. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 3 It’s Vinum, spittin with that kannibaal style. Peace to Mad Milla and Slisco, Pitu niggaz get wild. I got that unique flow, I’ll say whatever I think. Mix English and Dutch, like rum and coke in a drink. Take your mind to the brink of insanity, push you over. Spike aluminium bat, knock that chip off your shoulder. Pull the gun out your holster, the bullets will never hit. I spit high velocity missiles, make craniums split. Mr. Poizonous, exists for anyone that can relate. To crawling out the gutter, changing their own fate. Know some Surinam cats, who gun clap and still rap. Put your body on a rack, stretch your back till it snaps. I naturally adapt, to any cipher that I spit in. Freestyle sometimes, but now it’s mostly written. Grimy is how I’m living, a million then I’m splitting. Be in Thailand with a girl, my hands rubbing her kitten. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out.

Verse 1 Vinum don’t follow the trends or childish challenges. Flying through skies on Icarus wings, chasing a Pegasus. Diabolical anarchist, flow nasty like syphilis. Fuck your baby mama , after she makes me sandwiches. Vicious vernacular, somersault on beats spectacular. Cause planetary devastation, to challenging rappers. Lyrical master, dressed dapper, linen suite colored beige. Ghetto sage sharing wisdom, in a doo-rag and braids. Dodged police raids, hiding in Maine eating lobsters. Freeman sent the beat, so the beast could go bonkers. Another speaker knocker, heavy like an anvil. Serve MC’s I kill, on a George Foreman grill. How to scare a thumb thug, online faking their clout. Show-up at their job, or park in front of his mama’s house. I move thru the shadows, of ghetto environments. Where fallen soldiers are remembered, by Graffiti on cement. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 2 You talk about being a rhyme killer, but I really am. Placate your man, before I put him in a box like spam. Vinums a warlord with battle scars, “G” without jeans or star. Evolved to control four elements, like Aang the avatar. Move through cities without a team, cuz I don’t need niggaz. Most ballers go broke, flossing in front of greedy niggaz. Vinum’s an industry terror, wearing Nubuck timberlands. Lyrical champion, boning tennis chicks from Wimbledon In life you have to earn what you want, or take what ur given. Hard living from sinning, and naughty positions with women. But I’m winning, I don’t pop bottles vinum drink straight liquor. Then go to the zoo, feed rappers to the lions for dinner. Spine shifter, more of a writer, than gangsta or mobster. Media images confuse real catz, with the imposters. I spread love, peace, knowledge and global unity. But I’ll bury anything, over my money or family. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out. Verse 3 It’s Vinum, spittin with that kannibaal style. Peace to Mad Milla and Slisco, Pitu niggaz get wild. I got that unique flow, I’ll say whatever I think. Mix English and Dutch, like rum and coke in a drink. Take your mind to the brink of insanity, push you over. Spike aluminium bat, knock that chip off your shoulder. Pull the gun out your holster, the bullets will never hit. I spit high velocity missiles, make craniums split. Mr. Poizonous, exists for anyone that can relate. To crawling out the gutter, changing their own fate. Know some Surinam cats, who gun clap and still rap. Put your body on a rack, stretch your back till it snaps. I naturally adapt, to any cipher that I spit in. Freestyle sometimes, but now it’s mostly written. Grimy is how I’m living, a million then I’m splitting. Be in Thailand with a girl, my hands rubbing her kitten. I make GUN muzik, Grab ur nutz nod to it. If u ain’t got nutz, grab whatever get into it. GUN muzik, to make the people go crazy. Acting a fool, while Vinum cool like the AC. GUN muzik, this song ain’t for radio. For catz who get that work dancing, like little Tario. You ain’t bout dat life, watch what u talking about. Cuz it’s all fun and games til the GUNs come out.