Tonart: B minor•
Verse 1
Fm
I need it from the top, this is history baby,
Commissioner Steve Stout, Lenny, Godson, waddup?
D -Block, waddup?
Bravehearts, waddup? Yeah, yeah.
Yo, yo, ain't nothin' but trouble, God,
when I kick in the door
with D -Block, Bravehearts,
and the double R.
Don't make me let the machine off
This is methadone music
that you can lean off
Made you look,
the remix with me up on it
I copped your shit,
now I break weed up on it
And everything is real I see
Like my niggas that been home
But they only got a jail ID
I help the game, it ain't help me
I'm top 5 dead or alive
And that's just off one LP
And I still buzz
They feel cuz
Cause they know the flow's ill
Just like Will was
I'm just trying to make sure
that my son's wealthy
Out of shape
But I make sure that my gun's healthy
I'm an ape, you can't stand kiss
Comin' through the hood
Em
Fm
in a Aston Vanquish
The color of dandruff, they said we jumped him
I just let the gun snuff him
Copied a turbo soon as they uncuff him
This goes out to all of your mans
Why I put you in a verse
when I could put you in a car, in a van
D -Block
They shootin'
Aw, I made you look
You a slave to a page in
my rhyme book
Gettin' big money, playboy,
your time's up
They shootin'
Aw, I made you look
You a slave to a page in
my rhyme book
Gettin' big money, playboy,
your time's up
Where them gangsters at?
Where them dimes at?
I'm from the school of hard knocks,
sneak peeks, and low blows
Where Xs mark spots and
kitchens mark O's
Where love's gon' get ya
and haters gon' snitch ya
And fingers squeeze triggers
like boa constrictors
It's the Mr. Looter, Jada, and Nas
And our bullets give you
a deep tissue massage
So hear the song and dance while
I make these ends
Em
Fm
You never stood half a chance
like Siamese twins
They shootin', look in the barrel
Then he made the front page
of the Miami Herald
a shy tribune
Nozzles with solid doom
We in that A -Town Journal
as violent goons
You should print my information
Quote my rhyme
And keep me in between these
New York and L .A. Times
I'm just a victim of society
It's Chris the Menace
With most shit out on the streets
Then evicted tenants
Go! They shootin'
Aw, made you look
You a slave to a page in
my rhyme book
Gettin' big money, playboy,
your time's up
They shootin' I made you, look,
you a slave to a page in my rhyme book
Gettin' big money, playboy,
your time's up
Bm
Where them gangsters at?
Fm
Where them dimes at?
Jungle Wiz Nation
We got them scared, look,
we got them scared, they runnin'
Yo, I grass the ratchet, the blicky,
the biscuit, the burner
The heat, the toaster, the twister,
you meetin' your owner
The banger, the hammer, the flamers,
I aim at the cannons
I can you, manhandle you,
you be famous, I cancel you
And cut, that's the end
of your movie
Pretendin' you actin' like
you and your men
So come shoot me, my tennis shoes Gucci
Old school, pea soup green
Jean Lee suit on Viva Lico Champagne
Friday the 13th, my CD drop
I rhyme to more bass than EZ Rock
I'm Jason, call a PD
Watch them bravehearts
junglin' where's the nation
Ill wear Rasta Lake,
never vealin' his face on TV or pictures,
see we be them niggas
Sorry that I made you wait long,
glad them fakes gone
We shootin',
squeezin' them triggers
with Luda beside me
Me and Kiss get loonies
and we sit the styles
Tell him hold his head,
God's son got him,
we made y 'all look
From San Quentin to Rikers
Island to Green
Sing, sing, plus marry me
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