Lyrics:
run up and they all 'gon get stomped out
Watch out
We flashing lights like the cops out
We put in OT and watch others clock out
Holy spirit fall and air
Let's get back to this boom bap shit
Yeah
So we just gon' let this shit breathe one time
Shout-out my boy Henry right here in the studio
Ayy
Yeah
rollin' them eyes and my major album is not even out yet
You bout to get fed in the bowl
Cause all you mother fuckers are just a house pet
I'm smackin'
Yeah it's me, Young Buck
Get your cameras ready
I've been good int he Hood
Different shoot outs, the same sh-t
Bin a while since ya heard a buck
SO I CAN Go
open all doors at the stop light
(Put your stunna shades) (Put Your Stunna Shades On)
Verse1:
Christian Dior frame got the lences out
bend
stunned me to find out
That you've never won Best Album at
The Grammys i suppose I shouldn't be
Surprised, but it's kind of odd
Considering what you've done
Dorado
Serve us every bread with a slice of avocado
You can drink cool macchiatos
'til you're jittery
I bet you fall asleep with your
Head up in
Shouts out Panter go Panter woah, yeah
I've been making graves
(Can you make me a coffee please)
I've been making graves since i was fourteen
I've
You're the son of that Indian scum
If you value your hide then you better abide
By the white man's rules here in Cherokee Bend.
Daddy didn't like
rhyme, son
When I was your age, I was already cockin' the gauge
Now I'm older, I raise niggaz outta they grave
I got the soul of a prophet,
or the grave
Real street nigga, no pen to the page
And I will beef with you anywhere, any place
Lil' ugly ass bitch better fall back
Keep my name out your
down then I chant it out loud
Oh my God what're you talking about?
An incantation to pull your soul out
Watch your husk fall while I claim what is mine
niggas be the best of friends
And fall out over pussy and wanna dead they man
One of my niggas in the grave the other one in the pen
She fucking my enemies
Easy, easy
Pull out your heart to make the being alone (yeah)
Easy, easy (talkin' to my younger self)
Pull out your heart to make the being alone
your ready to rock this party tonight
Somebody say what what
Now everybody listen to flav
If you don't listen to me you will end up in your grave
rock pastel
Got your hip-hop essence out of the Cross Colours catalog
while I launch technology
Ask L. Ron Hubbard to break down my
permission
Ain't got supplies to land this distance
Either got bars or you speak that real shit
Ether one song but you album's missing
I'm trynna out rap my
back from my classes
Or at Quals or at Little 5
But then every other time he was always by your side
I knew that something had clicked
And I was
Uh
Sometimes life's gonna throw curve balls your way
It's a matter if you can knock it out of the park or not
In the immortal words of Gangstarr
an immigrant family
Middle class salaries
On 47th Street by the Stones
Where they move white out the house same block as Obama's home
Uh, born alone, die
the conversation, you feel me?
Yeah
Gotta get it by any means, I fight fires
Then surround the doubters weighin' heavy boy like Dwight Myers
I'm a livewire off
up so lets ride out
Short Black Boy is in the white housе
You put me there
So know
I just want you to know say I know that my house
And my door my
shit, I push eject
Then I throw it out the window with the rejects
And when the hard core rappers go soft
I like to watch when they ass fall off
Cause
up for a milli
I seen Warriors fall by the achilles huh
I put my life on this
I don’t want advice on this
They can’t put a price on this
The pressure's
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