Lyrics:
gotta beat 'em stupid
Only got forty-one seconds just to give a nigga shit
Every second bitch I gotta use it
Some wet a nigga bluer and I cannot
Grab
Better watch how you speak to me, I'm back on my biz
Better check how you address me when I get like this
I done fell back and came up let me talk
I got a bag and got another
Took a loss won’t take another
An when the beat droppin I’m comin harder like a hammer
I only got 5 by my side the 6th
getting funky and I'm shooting all my jism
Like John Holmes, the x-rated nigga
Listen to the shit 'cause I'm the ill figure
Nobody's getting any bigger
getting funky and I'm shooting all my jism
Like John Holmes, the x-rated nigga
Listen to the shit 'cause I'm the ill figure
Nobody's getting any bigger
To be beat down and beat up by someone this slim
Enraged stomp in ya rib cage in cinnamon Tim's
Fierce fists
Knees bows
Throw kicks
Show kids how to put
"Nobody Beats the Biz"
Instrumental, attractin' a few
Nothin' really poppin', let's slide to Clara Barton
Bumped into a few good brothers from Morgas
I'm getting funky and I'm shooting all my jism
Like john holmes, the x-rated nigga
Listen to the shit 'cause I'm the ill figure
Nobody's getting any
Just hit a button, Morty, give me a beat
Oh, man, okay, all right, um
Brand new bitch, got a hop in the whip
Got a police and stick, VVS on my kids
up every day
And handle my biz?
Why they tryna crucify me for all of my sins?
To throw a touchdown
You gotta throw a few interceptions
And nobody's
the gate I got it started off right
Daddy told me (son), "You ain't gotta beat around the bush" (for sure)
Deep inside I feel you, Lord (number one)
I've
the gate I got it started off right
Daddy told me (son), "You ain't gotta beat around the bush" (for sure)
Deep inside I feel you, Lord (number one)
I've
a call of duty lobby
Do you really wanna try me?
I'm tryna build this label ain' nobody gonna stop me
So if you talking rap then you gotta run it by me
If
on beast mode
My niggas winning
Some blue doc and some weed smoke
My niggas winning
We still live by the G code niggas winning
My niggas winning my niggas
I don't wanna sell yay
Get my door kicked in by the kkk
Shoulda said the police
Lookin for the quarter piece inside my caprice
from the tracks
There's only one reason that I wrote this rhyme
It's so I could have fun with rap, one mo' time
All I need is one mic, a pen and an instrumental
Do
(Samples by Alchemist:)
Looked up the dj, and said may I?
[Large Proffesor]
Blow and pow like 4th of July explosives?
Lit it up, like the 4th
Somebody's gotta pay what more to say
Fucking with the sword die by the blade
In my biz don't get you paid
Like a few games just get you played
Throttle
of the beat (Artifacts assure me that this is Mary J. Blige)]
"My subliminals, mixed with criminal chemicals
Got more mily syllables than alphabet cereal..."
Folk got to readjust their thinking
Because they thought that they used to master
All of these instruments and
Nobody else could
But the Chinese are
the type to spit on microphones and leave em deformed
Babu cuts into Alchemist instrumentals
Gemini, this Twin Peaks like David Lynch do
Or does, bustin'
Chris Pine cryin at the Oscars
You finna get smoked like a rasta, B.I.Z and S.K. we the illest on the roster
80 On the highway man I'm Kevin Costner
I
I fuck it
We make loving
Cabaña
Cabaña
Cabaña
Cabaña
I’m fiending
I touch it
I fuck it
We make loving
Produced by Unknown Instrumentals
Written
clapped
Black was in the Jeep watchin
All these scenes speed by
It was a brown Datsun
And yo nobody in my hood got one
That clown cat's through, blazin
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