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(Featuring Jae Millz/Angelous/Cashmere/Trife/Manio/True Life/The Bad Seed) |
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[Chorus x2: Sample] |
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Get this thing through your head |
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And they will never be no more |
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Tell me, tell me, about it, damn it |
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[Jae Millz] |
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Aiyo, I move with a click that's wreckless |
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And they ain't got no problem spraying your ass, like disinfectant |
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So if I feel disrespected, I promise you family |
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Your body gon' be hollow tip infested |
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I come from the slums of the 212 |
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H-Dub, Lennox Ave, **** you gon' do? |
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We got wild clips duke, with things that'll hit you |
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And leave a hole so big your moms could put a whole wrist through |
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Homes, you don't wanna push me there |
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To the point, I gotta leave you in a bush somewhere |
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Nah, you don't wanna push me there |
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It ain't worth it, dog, homeboy you better - better, huh |
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Before I aim in you -- huh, it's real |
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You heard Millz real, and better believe it stupid cuz -- |
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Nah, come on, Slay you know who to holla at |
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I'm heavy ever where from Harlem to the bottom where the rude boys and shottas sat |
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Hell is what I'm giving em, **** hurtin', I'm killing em |
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Got legends ready to pick back up they pen and spit again |
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[Angelous] |
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I nurture the track, the perfect of rap |
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Its nonsense how the don, get curved it, to clap |
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You miss me, simply, I asserted the track |
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Kay classic, the same game, dog, with packs |
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Mobsters with the arms up, feel the game wit me |
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Bomb up, as I conduct, this is Ang' furry, huh |
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I made berry, the whole league in Jones Beach |
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And bake berry, the H jerry's is so sweet |
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So brief, aim's gone, in the building |
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O.G.'s ain't honor the brilliant, except for the minds |
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That push the breathe, for the best to colide |
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Better yet, I put the X in define |
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Never fret, when it's beef, I put the pep' in the nine |
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From your brain to my watch, you be ahead of my time |
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Aim/shift, your brain wrist, the gate aimed to lift |
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The game will keep going because Angelous exists, bitch |
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[Chorus] |
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[Cashmere] |
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What up, it's Cashmere, ya, your new rap fellow |
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We in hoods like the jam in '86, hello |
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You know what that means? Ya'll the rap queen |
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Bunch of bitch niggaz, bow to your new king |
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And after this there won't be no more |
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You dudes, is full of hype, that's what TV's for |
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So, get it through your head, or the nine'll leave, eight holes in your head |
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Think I'm playing, nigga? I have my peeps pop out my the van |
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And you lookin like, a soldier out of Pakistan |
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Ask them dudes on this track, they'll tell you Cash the man |
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Whatever he doing, trust me, I know I can |
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I'm ahead of him, eight miles and running |
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I'm done busting shots, the next hit, the bomb drops |
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You cocksuckers is about to die, and -- let's go, come on |
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[Chorus] |
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[Trife Da God] |
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Either you get it through the head, or you get it through the leg |
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Either way, you graze these bullets, is gonna leave you dead |
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And I ain't freezin' up, when it's time to pull it, you heard what I said |
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It's Theodore nigga, we all about the bread, niggaz |
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And it's time for a reality check, yet I'm celeb in the hood |
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And I ain't even seen a salary yet |
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Ya'll niggaz flee when my calvary's step |
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Staten Island we rep, stylin' to death, pumpin' gallons to wet |
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And like Nick, yeah, I stay with the Cannon |
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Lay in fours, get, kid you stuck wherever you standing |
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Lay you on the strip, play you for a bitch, you punk |
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Pussy, you dealin' with crumbs, so stop actin' like you one tough cookie |
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I'm not the greatest, I'm the latest, ya'll faggots is imitators |
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Air you out like venilators, and bang you like skinned potatoes |
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Cuz most of ya'll faggots is sounding like little Jada's |
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[Maino] |
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Yo, I speak for the Stuy, Brooklyn is mine, get it through your head |
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'Fore I round these bullets up and send them through your head |
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Last nigga tried to stunt, left his hat full of lead |
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Left the picture that your see, for the inside of F.E.D.S. |
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I want you to think, that my gun don't burst |
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My tech'll make niggaz back up like cars in reverse |
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Definition of a thug, man, put in your work |
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And nigga act up, you put his work in the earth |
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Yeah, I'm hotter than you ever was, real? You never was |
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Hustle hard, nigga, we get you, whatever drugs |
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Bet you none of ya'll seen, machine guns rattle |
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So I let off, and let you feel the heat off the barrel |
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My dogs rocked up, and got you when you hit the gravel |
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Been a hard hitter, before the Mets signed Darryl |
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I'm your reaper, when I blast the street sweeper |
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You bitch niggaz'll crack up like cheap sneakers |
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[Chorus] |
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[True Life] |
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Yo, ya'll niggaz keep talking greasy, like I won't melt ya'll |
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See me in the streets, got more Smilez than Southstar |
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Pull your socks up, homey, you know what I'm about, yo |
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I was pushing rocks, you pushed the Roc, forgot yo's |
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Lot of niggaz thuggin', but not like me |
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Put the fifth to your nose, for being nosey |
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**** a throwback jersey, you trying to be Fabolous |
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End your career, have you resurface like Canibus |
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Nigga's shouldn't have let me loose |
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I'm well when I'm sober, imagine off Cran' and Grey Goose |
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I'm liable to clap the tech |
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Make you take that chain off, but I don't want a rash on my necklace |
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Shit, we ain't the same calibur, listen, your don |
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I treat ho's how I wanna, even got a bad blonde |
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Got bad feet, so I hit her with her shoes on |
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Get this through your head, 'fore I flip over, your Yukon |
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[Bad Seed] |
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Streetsweeper, cock back, run up, where ya block at |
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Gettin' money, stop that, where the **** ya'll rocks at |
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Bandana on my face, thirty nine on my waist |
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Shoot you if you try to run, nigga you ain't gettin' chased |
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You was poppin' hella shit, all that shit irrelevant |
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Sittin' on cake, and you waiting on the settlement |
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I'm a grown man, never run, never ran |
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And I don't play with kids, this ain't Never Never Land |
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Brooklyn, **** that, crackers, where my nuts at? |
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You get bucked at, crew you 'fore I Dutch hat |
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I smoke 'Cocoa Brova', stay with a 'Smif-N-Wessun' |
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Skip J in the Garden, and hit Slay session |
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Bad Seed from the top of the hill |
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It's still real though, Tarantino flow, keep it low, I Kill Bill |
