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A lot of cats thought the g.p. shit wouldn't make it |
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June luva (smokin) |
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Pop brown hornet (smokin) |
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Rubber to the bands (smokin) |
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Down low... |
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(g.p. forever more baby) |
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June luva (smokin) |
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Pop brown hornet (smokin) |
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Rubber to the bands (smokin) |
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Down low (smokin) |
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[june luva] |
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Yo crews i been through with my ginsu |
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I be choppin em, the gap below ain't no stoppin em |
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I be hoppin em, over the fences droppin em |
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Leaping fylin kick on some shaolin shit |
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Get in your stance and defend your square |
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If your skills is not equipped we're sendin that ass up outta here |
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Indeed no question in this profession |
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When g.p.'s in your area it's a blessin |
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Keep em guessin what the hell is they up to |
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Is they finished? nigga we barely begun to |
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Break em down and claim soil in this industry |
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Before i'm gone muthafuckas will remember me |
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Check my pedigree, substantial amount of evidence |
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Body and fools from presidents |
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My residence is stapleton, staten isle |
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B/k/a better known as the shao |
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[pop the brown hornet] |
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When it be the big dipper i beg to differ |
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Approach like you want it and get put into a back twister |
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Flunkee, little monkey |
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All that garbage you be talkin i know you gots to be a junkie |
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Cause i ain't feelin out one joints you made |
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Everytime you rhyme with the next cat you're gettin slayed |
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Your style's played but you still keep sportin it |
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Put a cork in it, dust it off and auction it |
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Get what you can for it 'fore it's too late |
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You don't want the world to find out the shit's gold plated |
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And outdated, i know you're glad you made it when you made it |
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Cause you style's only gettin faded |
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While i maintain mint condition |
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You got your eyes on the star wishin you could plead half my mission |
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It's all good tho, you're not an all-pro |
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You know you're gettin over with a style's that's so so |
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And while i'm all that you be gettin left back |
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And laughed at like a fat girls ass crack |
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[rubberbands] |
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Murder i write cause wrote is past tense |
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Leavin featherweight mcs in suspense |
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Cause in my division we dealin with ammunition |
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Lyrically cuttin niggas down like trees |
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You think you got me under pressure cause you whylin |
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You scare me just as much as the haunted house on coney island |
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They used to say you was soft and smilin |
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But all that shit stopped once protect ya neck dropped |
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Hip hop terrorists on the rise |
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The grain click will take the industry by surprise |
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There is no stoppin what is meant, leavin competition bent like |
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Two match-ups in an accident, head on collision |
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Spokin like a geo prism |
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And if you didn't see us comin i suggest you check your vision |
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You're on point at a arrange for correction |
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Like bringin a homeboy hookup outta state, there's no connection |
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[down low recka] |
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G.p. not the greatest but we famous |
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For committin the crime and tracks that be hittin |
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But niggas can't maintain this, we stain this |
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With the blood from a real nigga who be nameless |
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Check me, got the ill stee undercover |
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More current, holdin on the green like a rubber |
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Cause i be not a carbon copy or sloppy |
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Watch me, even stop me but never got me |
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Still got niggas on this block, it's hectic |
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It's winter, stapleton go all out and enter |
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My chamber, danger, no turnin back |
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36 physical hits, ill mental tricks |
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Come mad thick |
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Nobody know to have to explain this |
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Predict the competition got a style that's brainless |
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So i crush your tower with stories by the hour |
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G.p. who? put the power in the power |
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Rewind, come against the selector |
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The grain remain self-contained in any sector, what |
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If you representin the east keep (smokin) |
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If you representin the west keep (smokin) |
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If you recognizin the grain be (smokin) |
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Then you representin the best g (smokin) |
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Down low (smokin) |
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Rubber to the bands (smokin) |
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June luva (smokin) |
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Pop brown hornet (smokin) |
