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(*Laughing*) Brooklyn |
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This is the set-off |
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Kay Sleezy |
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Take it to the streets nigga |
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Word up |
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Sauce Money |
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Uh, uh |
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Proper set-off |
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Don't get it f**ked up 'cause Sauce calm wit his grandma |
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'cause I'm like baking soda bitch, I'm armed with a hammer |
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And when I'm strapped fool, f**k your brother |
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'cause like Jimmy Ivene in Virginia you in the scope like a muthaf**ka |
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Fine, niggas don't wanna let him shine |
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Niggas hate that fact Sauce don't give a f**kin' nine |
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Soon as he ran his mouth, one tre pound seven to nine |
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Guess who's the odd man out |
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I guess we got something in common |
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I'm just a little more calm when |
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I'm about to split your arm in |
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Put a hole so big in your noggin |
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That if you God body, you can fit the whole sun, moon and star in |
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Steady robbin' all them lyrics I flow |
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I'm Sadam-ing all you niggas fo sho |
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You betta know I'm a true nigga, please do nigga |
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Betta inquire from a few niggas |
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'cause bitch, I done shit on quite a few and quieted a few niggas |
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Get a grip, dead four-fifth in the hip |
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Slip, never picture me fallin' nigga don't trip |
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[Killer Mike] |
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Stoned is the way of my walk |
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In a mini-mack eleven, the tone when I talk |
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When I spray niggas pray, lay on the sidewalk |
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Color blood red, body outlined in chalk |
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My rhymes, two zigs all nines |
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Hard hit when they spit, split wigs double time |
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This eightball's a strict nine |
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Tear apart body parts when I spark nine |
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At they head hard lodged in they damn spine |
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Leaves emcee's like Christopher Reeves, crippled and cryin' |
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Shittin' in a bag and a breath away from dyin' |
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Nigga I'm - the epitomy of raw rhymes |
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The epitomy of rap rock |
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I make a block party bop to the sounds of a hot glock |
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From New York down to Georgia it don't stop |
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Killer Kill from Addamsville with a hot glock |
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Blaaat! |
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[Bun B] |
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They say murder is the case they wanna throw me |
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I guess these muthaf**kas don't know me |
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O.G. rock called a yay slanger |
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VA's finest |
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Underground muthaf**kin' king call me "Your Highness" |
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I tear your sinus with this gun powder |
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Wipe your tears with the steal, no fear this is real niggas |
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Here is the deal: you clear in this field |
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And ain't stoppin' until every hater here is revealed |
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'cause we don't need no f**kin' clearance to peel |
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Or shortstoppers runnin' and the fear is revealed |
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So - get off this block homie handle your corner |
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Keep all your heroin, rocks and you mariju-wana |
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I'm like a - character on the Sopranos or the Wire |
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You'se a - big pussy lil' man, it's over, retire |
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'cause the - clock's tickin', your days is done |
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But we know all them lil' different f**kin' ways you slum |
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But it's trill downtown, your momma's all free |
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Your house is sugar-layin' with your wife and your seed |
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Yes indeed, Big Bun is on a home invasion |
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You gon' bleed on my gun from your dome abrasions |
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'cause my chrome is blazin', I'm naughty crunk |
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Got the bop gun like Sir Nose D'Voiddoffunk |
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Bitch, I pull a sawed-off from under the waist |
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Open your eyes muthaf**ka, you got thunder to face |
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F**k rest, we gon' lay these muthaf**kas to waste |
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You bit the pully nigga tell me, how the f**k did it taste |
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From my gun... |
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Big guns, big power |
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M. Woods, sixth hour |
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Berettas, Tauruses, Rugers |
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Smith and Wesson's, glocks and lugers |
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AK's, AR 15's |
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Mack elevens and M-16's |
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High caliber, so why try it? |
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You live by it, so you die by it |
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A muthaf**kin' gun... |
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[WC] |
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Who's the man with the strap in his hand |
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Homie's stolen semi-autos and contrabands |
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All day every day, crossin' my hood in day |
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In a six-trey with my nigga Kay Slay |
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Dub the law scan, the infrared scanner |
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Hangin' out the window, hittin' em up with the bandana |
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And I can't stand a snitch so I - clean the lid |
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Just in case them bitch niggas wanna sing with this |
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I stay on the trigger, 'cause lames hate me nigga |
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They can't pay me nigga, where my lay dates nigga |
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Where AK one-on-one so thirty shot |
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Nine millimeter Melindas aimed ready to send ya |
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So put your can on your vest like a Bible and pray slowly |
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'cause this'll leave your teflon holey |
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With the forty glock ready to ring, bring the trauma to the scene |
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It's the Ghetto Heisman and the Drama King |
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[Joe Buddens] |
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It's about that time nine-milli clappin' |
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Dude, what's really crackin'? |
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I been gettin' it since 'Paid In Full' was really happenin' |
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I gotta do it like that to keep my street name |
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And pride made me kill Wayne Growe when the heat came |
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I don't smut but stimulation is good |
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I keep the hammer with me, Joey's renovatin' the hood |
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Difference between us, I'm gettin' loot on tours |
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Good shoes on the Beem, you got a boot on yours |
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Dudes with no names wanna put an end to me |
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But doggs, I'm readin' between the lines, the whole game's in parenthesis |
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Talk about models and how you with somethin' |
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When you really shootin' air balls, you ain't hittin' nothin' |
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Nathan, through the strip, O.G.'s blazin' |
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Street niggas slowly hatin' on Joey so amazin' |
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And hood niggas knowin' what up |
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Either holdin' you down or holdin' you up, throwin' it up |
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Oh! |
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[Hak Ditty] |
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Aiiyo, f**k the dumb shit, when the guns spit |
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One clip'll have your whole strip laid down |
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Thirty-two shots to your block, I had that shit caged down |
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And before you blink, I let off eight rounds |
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This the ro-yal I ain't playin' |
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I'm takin' this over, so y'all either layin' or dying |
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And I won't hesitate to blaze the iron |
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You cocksuckers is chillin' with a ragin' lion |
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I see them dudes every day, when I'm racin' by 'em |
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Or on the curb poppin' bottles while they hatin' and eyein' |
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Uh, whether the slider or the highrider |
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I keep my block rocker, glock under the blue dosser |
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Far as Philly, it's no question to who's liver |
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I'm hotter, Hak Ditty, block locker |
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Fully prepared |
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I hope y'all fully aware that y'all niggas got a problem this year |
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(*Gunshots*) |
