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Dion Jetson - Clap For Me (Ft. Broadway & SeVen1)

[Intro: Dion Jetson]
It's your boy Jetson and we got something special for you tonight
We brought along SeVen1 and a very special guest Broadway
We'd like for you to start this track with some claps
Just clap for us please
C'mon, louder, louder, louder

[Verse 1: Dion Jetson]
Call me a seasoned veteran
Tell these rookies grab my bags cuz they can't touch my Letterman
Late nights bullshit Cartwright
Awkward shots lay you down like iron mike
Let the pigeons fly we soar like eagles
Desert but I cross the pond like a Beatle
Dreams of a million all ones all legal
Since the fetal had dreams of selling out the motherfucking regal
Hold your applause, I don't fucking need it
ARod Rap syringe flow, no conceding
So Conceited my own lyrics I'm repeating
On the same track but we ain't competing
Y'all run sprints, We run marathons
I carry the torch you just a carry on
Fuck a finish line, whole life a victory lap
Don't call it hip hop call it winner circle rap
[Hook: Dion Jetson]
I ain't trying to hear the lies y'all niggas tell
Fake followers, fake record sales
Pull your skirt up nigga, its show and tell
Now clap for me bitch, like Dave Chappelle
Clap for me, clap for me, clap for me nigga, clap
Clap for me, clap for me, clap for me nigga, clap
Clap for me, clap for me, clap for me nigga, clap
Clap for me, clap for me, clap for me nigga, clap

[Verse 2: Broadway]
All these label execs telling me get my buzz up
All you want to do is try to rape me if it was up
Seen niggas get less time giving they blood up
Seen niggas get no time giving they plug up
They don’t wrap like me and I ain’t talking bout no hip-hop
Spent a buck on saran wrap, aluminum foil and Ziploc
Eight Hours on the road no pit stop
Four cylinder I made it on a full tank
I went to the feds, Bump went to the feds
It wasn’t nobody here to pull rank
I ain’t fucked up bout no paper
I ain’t played a muthafucking game since Sega
Nigga getting money putting Reggie in a Vega
Sitting on Omegas, hollering at the Moes on Ada
‘O6 Boo Man came with the kush
Fred at the white house treat him like Bush
King was alive throwing money through the roof
If you look under evil bet the money was the root
Home of the crooks, home of the bangers
I’m a muthafucking hustla, I’m a got damn slanger
Check my paper work, I ain’t no muthafucking sanger
I know the streets well, I ain’t no muthafucking stranger

[Verse 3: SeVen1]
I’ma keep it raw like your fucking Pa
Everything I wrote, I probably did or saw
Ask the law how many names I gave ‘em
More AKA’s than Winston-Salem
They want that real shit, look how I raised them
The truth bathed them, Yeezus couldn’t save them
Eastside landlord stomp your feet nigga
Remove your shoes these ain’t your momma rules nigga
Who got a story to tell, Charlie I’m all ears
I got a bridge for lese so meet me at the pier
Two parent household I shouldn’t be cold
The devil asked for my soul but it been sold
Nigga lie to his momma, think he real with you?
Told his kids he’ll be back but never came through
Told the pigs those niggas selling weight too
And this the hottest nigga out, nigga FUCK YOU