|
(Chorus:) |
|
"Here come the gangstas...Uh huh |
|
and you can't see their face...Uh huh" (x2) |
|
"They're comin' for you" |
|
(Verse 1:) |
|
CT all day, bad news all day |
|
Grade school teacher moved my desk into the hallway |
|
Trouble starter, mother/father taught me how to hustle harder |
|
See dough like Nino, but **** The Carter, must be smarter |
|
Apply the profit 'till my pockets overflow |
|
Any opposition tryin' to stop it and I'll overthrow |
|
Comin' out buckin' like a cowboy on a bull at a rodeo |
|
Throw you in a hole below the stone where the ??? go |
|
Flows that all your homies know from Canada to Tokyo |
|
I'm steppin on your toes like an amateur that dosey doe |
|
Scientific, typical, a genius is the evilest |
|
Who raised hell so high, the Eskimos are feverish |
|
Be cool, 'cause me even dealin' with these fools |
|
Is kinda like a rocket scientist teachin' pre-school |
|
Y'all swear to God that ya gangsta gangsta |
|
But reality'll rearrange ya |
|
(Chorus) |
|
(Verse 2:) |
|
Even with all the hate and love that I've received |
|
I sit and read off the page 'till my iris bleed |
|
I've seen it all from the backwoods, 'burbs and trees |
|
Overseas, back to CT, home to me |
|
To them shitty city blocks, dudes hustlin' ki's |
|
Where the breeze blows excess weaves like tumbleweeds |
|
I'm up 24/7 with beats in my head |
|
No time to sleep, son, I'll sleep when I'm dead |
|
And I ain't really sweatin' all that MC shit |
|
Forget 'em, I buy backpackers and trendy chicks |
|
'Cause when I start to see success, then the envy hits |
|
They used to love me, now I'm on their enemy list |
|
I'm tryin' to write the right song that'll get me rich |
|
Dip in the Hollywood hills 'till my Bentley flips |
|
My flow's fluid as a wave that a jetski skips |
|
My wife's Japanese and white, little sexy bitch |
|
My pen's a MAC-10, my freestyle's a shell |
|
My cell was set with a speed dial for Hell |
|
So...no more thinkin' that you're gangsta gangsta |
|
But reality'll rearrange ya |
|
(Chorus) |
|
(Bridge x2:) |
|
It's all gangstas, gangstas at the top of the list |
|
So I play my own shit, it goes somethin' like this |
|
(Verse 3:) |
|
I'm the icing on the cake, money in the bank |
|
Inmates who make shanks out the mixtape case |
|
The look on a fiend's face when his lips taste base |
|
Is based on the fact that crack put him into outer space |
|
Based on that, if this is just based on rap |
|
I keep it basic and just bump bass on tracks |
|
In fact...A lot of y'all think ya gangsta gangsta |
|
But reality'll rearrange ya |
|
(Chorus) |
|
(Outro:) |
|
Yeah, Chum...another Skrilla Guerilla killa |
|
Demigodz, Doe Rakers |
|
What up, Celph? What up, Mo'? |
|
What up, Hoot? What up, Spliff? |
|
What up, E? What up, South Paw? |
|
Yeah...uhh! Uh! |
