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Ughh, ughh, yeah |
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This is beanie seigel |
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That philly cat playin' wit that silly rap |
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Put your weight up, not your hate up, niggas |
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Y'all know how i play quiet towns and tie 'em down |
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Haters wonderin' how i got a position with rock |
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Cuz i listen to the lox and i listen then watch |
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While you still sittin' in spot, ditchin' the cops |
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I'm in the porsche box with fox, glistenin' watch |
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Wore steel gray, lexus, gs-4 |
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That's an evil metal when the dog pedals to the floor |
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I'm routin' down south, for my aim is to score |
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Eight cylinder, screamin' '**** the law!' |
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Got a tank full of gas, trunk full of cash |
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Hammers in the stash, scanners in the dash |
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Radar detectors, troopers can't find us |
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We bubble down atl and hit the 'linas |
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Then get clubbed with some dirty south thugs |
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Go all out thugs, go in your house thugs |
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Talk shit, put blood in your mouth thugs |
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36 south stuck, stay on route thugs |
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You know how mac play, quiet town, tie it down |
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I supply it now, by the pound |
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Might front you a cue if you buy a pound |
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If you didn't try it then, why would you try it now? |
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Then cuz mac rat wouldn't fire a round into your crown |
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I lay you down and retire you clown |
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And i clap niggas, nat niggas kid a dirt |
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Pat-pat with the deuce deuce, it'll work |
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Bitch ass niggas wearin' thongs and skirts |
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Catch 'em early in the mornin' while they goin' to work |
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Hey you pretty mother****ers stay stuck in the mirror |
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And you weak ass niggas only buss out the fear |
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I know y'all softer than them feathers that they stuf in the dear |
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I pack two barettas, never bust in their ear |
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Twist your shit back, spit 'til my gats is back |
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Pack four pieces like a kit kat. heh, get that? |
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Cop cris' by the six-pack, range rov?' dot six that |
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Benz coupe, drop six that |
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Buggy eye seven come out? shit, took the six back |
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Switch the double r, the double r's are, gotta get that |
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You see how we play, pop cris' on the e-way |
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Soakin' the seat, gettin' drunk with glee |
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Or the sharp bar, grill simon, poppin' dom p |
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Why you chicken when you chasin' your how with hot tea |
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Niggas flashin' back money like it's they money |
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Slap 500 on back of a three-twenty |
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I'm bringin' it to any nigga tryin' to shoot games (yeah) |
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With them bullshit buggy-eyed kits and cds |
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[memphis bleek] |
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Check it out, yo, yo |
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Well, i'm a lil' nigga don't speak, i tote heat |
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Here to shut down your whole operation on the street |
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Bleek, you know niggas just had to recruit this |
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My flow drewl out like a old nigga toothless |
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Who would believe they pump bleek with ritilin |
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Too hyped up, but weed calm my adrenaline |
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Roll day on the strip, sk in the crib |
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Hundred crack viles, playin' the benj' |
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Nickel nine gleam, like this armoral-ed up |
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My squad be armed up, gotcha niggas' arms up |
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Who the **** want what? me and bean's trumped up |
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Witcha town under seige, dillinger in the sleave |
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If my gun jam, you niggas squeeze on me |
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You niggas them cats got the code-d's on me |
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I'm on to my off game, leave the stadium for in stores |
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Floss chains and i pimp whores, stay smoked out |
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Shirt be poked out with the slums knows eight |
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Six to jump out, you eat what you spit |
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Mother****er die clean |
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For you actin' tought cats, but in your heart you scream |
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I read your body languo |
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You want violence and don't wanna mingle |
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You want a challange get it brought to for every angle |
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This shit'll slow 'em down, i bet that |
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Ya up front dough and your six backed out, mother****er |
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[foxy brown] |
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Sassy fox some brick money, cop me a drop |
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You know how i run it, 600, glassy top |
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Rock them light gray wrist shit, flash the rocks |
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The red, the yellow, the green, causin' traffic stops |
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Bitch please, never freeze, gonna blast the glock |
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Then i show a little cleave' and breeze past the cops |
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You talk slick but suck dick for money in y'all hand |
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I'm like 'bitch, i got more money than your man' |
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While you get your knees scraped up, cum all on your glands |
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Shit, i'm in the v twinz ballin' them tramps |
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Y'all hoes greasy, so i keep bitch easy |
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Rookie, **** you know about glocks and pock' books? |
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You know na na rock that shit, parada that shit |
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And scotch that shit, dolce gabba that shit |
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Hollow points, top that shit, **** you tryin' to aim |
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Pop that shit, yeah, nigga, fox got that shit |
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You see the ice wrist shit, can you cop that shit |
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Channel crocodile and ostrich shit, whoa |
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You know my style, i be spendin' they cash |
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And i'll show their little dick some celebrity ass |
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And get 'em a brick, i know what style to get them niggas shit real |
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Well, ****, i let 'em live and lick the tip of my shit |
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To remind 'em of some rose petals, candles, and shit |
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Or some hydro like the nigga grew a plant in my shit |
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So that's what it is, that's why them hoes mad at my shit |
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See me wildin' in the four-six, stylin' on them bum-ass |
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Goddess mc, y'all bitches is littles foxes |
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See my girls' friends, tossin' they little watches |
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Cris? i pops it. ****in' a nigga topless |
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Cats? i fouls on. hoes? i styles on, nigga |
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Wear y'all out then air y'all out |
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Over here? hustle from where, clear all out |
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Shit, greyhound bitch, stay down bitch |
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And i know jigga see me here to lay down shit |
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I will spray y'all niggas, waste y'all niggas |
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Cuz i ****ed the nigga and pay y'all niggas |
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Shit, what the **** |
