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(feat. Ali Vegas, Eyeslow, L.S.) |
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[Intro: Eyeslow (sample)] |
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(If you got something to say |
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Why don't you just come out and say it) |
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Brother's grave... hey let me tell you something |
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Knawhatimean, we up in here, man |
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Favorite the rapper, of favorite the rapper |
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Like my nigga Ali Vegas would say, youknowhatimsayin |
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If your ghost writer's ghost writer, ask around |
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[Chorus x2: L.S.] |
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When the wind blows |
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And we know, you ain't gon' find ya way home |
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Storm gets cold |
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Try'nna see through rain, hail, sleet, snow |
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[Eyeslow] |
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From off the devil's ledge |
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Come the throughbread, dagger double edge |
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Hammer sledge, can't be no rap Quentin Tarantino |
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Rhymin' like G and Nino, I'm convinced, I'm the best |
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Spittin' none to less, fuck the rest, I'm unimpressed |
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Don't make me get the gun and vest, and make examples |
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I used to make samples, and pass them out |
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Now I keep the ratchet by the pillow when I'm crashin' out |
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So I'm never caught sleepin', get caught creepin' and that ass is out |
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Eyeslow's the name, the ruger to your brain |
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Left a blood stain on the passenger side of your range |
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Fuck the games, the circle dot dot and the cootie shots |
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I leave my tooly cocked, and strip a game to his booty socks |
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[Chorus x2] |
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[Ali Vegas] |
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I play the block like Elgin, do |
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They said they could die young, that make me eligible |
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My baby brother said when you on top |
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Niggaz intend to wanna put lead in you |
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But when you on the bottom, niggaz wanna step on you |
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I told 'em, don't worry, I'm two guns ahead of you |
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But when you shining again, they wanna rep with you |
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They say you are what you eat, so ya'll can't blame me |
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This year I turn brolic niggaz into vegetables |
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And my back against the wall, and I'm brawlin' |
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You act hard and I'm stallin', streets ain't come with caller ID's |
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So I couldn't see when God was callin', the odds was fallin' |
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Grab two arms and clap and applaude, and look |
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Y'all want problems? Ya'll welcomed like the door mat |
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Ya'll bore cats, with your store bought raps |
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And ya'll had to study my format, ya'll want war? |
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Ya'll ain't ready for war yet, yea you rich, but you can't |
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Really afford that, you ain't study your forty eight laws yet |
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Plus I got the blueprints, to where you snore at |
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See how these critics do? They get critical |
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Then they get political, one line can get rid of you |
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They say I chase the top two, well if this is true |
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Wouldn't I have to remove the paper to fill in the picture drew |
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You niggaz do like these chickens do |
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Sit around, and gossip, like ya'll ain't got shit to do |
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I'm startin' to think, it's not what I say, but the shit I do |
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No record out, still my digits grew |
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Niggaz sayin' Veg' signed to Motolla, nope |
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Get your rumors straight, Vegas is signing Motolla |
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I think it's about, time that I told ya |
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I spend so much time in the Rover, fuck the beat |
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I rhyme to the motors, sittin' on 20's, providing I own 'em |
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The flow's low like I was rhyming in shoulder |
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Then I speed it up -- gotta pardon me ya'll |
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I was dippin' from traffic, at the time that I wrote 'em |
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Ya'll know 'em, you wanna shine? Your best bet is to stand in the sun |
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Not a blood or a crip, like vendetta in the slum |
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I don't give pounds, unless I'm handing them guns |
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And I don't weigh back, when I'm brandishin' one |
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To understand where I'm going, you gotta understand where I'm from |
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And ya'll ain't understanding me, huh? |
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Somewhere down the line, I guess we got loss |
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But I'mma stay hood, like cold chicken and hot sauce |
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So whose consumin' the throne, I put two in your dome |
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The only time my niggaz work, is for funeral home |
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Cuz they'll body kids, I cried when they body B.I.G |
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And I'mma hold Queens down, just like John Gotti did, what? |
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[Outro: L.S.] |
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When the wind blows.. |
