Lyrics: Kalem Tarrant/Rusty Moos-Moore
Music: Kalem Tarrant/Rusty Moos-Moore
(Cough-cough, cough-cough)
Ayy,sit back as I rip from the chest
Microphone in my hand and a voice in my head
I'ma keep spittin' till there ain't none left
I guess death be the only thing that keep me set
Like, two years since I said ya dead
I made moves that the money ain't a thing, oh, yes
I stress that I'm not just a regular guest
The rap for the stacks, I bring back the boom-bap
Like, who that kid dressed in all black?
Every mother****er wanna be on my track
I don't give a f*ck about your cap-ass rap
You stay wack while I snap, keep the bars on tap, huh
All I hear is "Money, money, bitches", but I don't see no money or the mother****in' bitches, uh
All I see is corny rappers acting famous like they made it, but ain't makin' any ****ing digits
Yeah, let me break it down for ya
You do it for the image, ain't nobody down for ya
Comin' up out the grave, I was underground for ya
Now I'm comin' and takin' the throne, better bow down for ya
Highness, leave your bank in the minus
All my bills are blue like my mother****in' iris
Fillin' up your head like a goddamn virus
Really wanna say my double dare, you ****in' try this
What?
All you get is my piss
Spit like a mag and I'm dumpin' my clip
Name someone else who be doin' this shit
Y'all can keep it coming, schema clique in this bitch
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand
Sun in the sky and the smog in the air
People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear
You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care
Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand
Sun in the sky and the smog in the air
People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear
You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care
Time to kick dust up, I bust like a clip
When I duck out the back and I creep up like this
How many mother****ers must get dumped with the gun quick?
This is for the souls that felt this
Who's that?
Comin' straight from the back
I just stack up my pack while you sit there and act
Tough mother****ers wanna be so bust like they subject to another style they suspectin'
Everybody wanna be respected
Take a little shot when they least expect it
Who am I?
Gotta be objective
The blade stay tucked and it ain't selective
Dissected, emptied out his pockets and kept it
Split a mother****er from his posse like Brexit
I don't give a f*ck about a man who said shit
Really want a feature but the flow expensive
F*ck out my way when I bust it like that
Sly goes the track, and I punk out the gas
F*ck what you say, and then f*ck what you heard
I stick to movin', I fly like a bird
Spray words like it's blood to the paper
Stay cursed, but if I see things worse
When I go and get a rise I'ma take Earth
When you address me you go 'head and say "Sir"
Can I get a little bit of the steez please?
I reap the rewards of a war I'm knees deep in
I pull pins like a frag, I'm so bad
I bust slugs, bitch, and recover the bag
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah
Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand
Sun in the sky and the smog in the air
People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear
You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care
Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand
Sun in the sky and the smog in the air
People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear
You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care