Lyrics
Yeah
Y’know what it is
SK
With 9th Wonder on the beat
Elliot Ness.
Custom Made, Bad Boy collabo (9th Wonder!)
We all about the cash flow
The bottom line is, me and mine are solidified
You little dudes run along, go and get a grind
I rock rubber bands, but not for fashion
I keep 'em cause I’m literally stacking
And I don’t fuck with Visa or plastic, I just pull out a
And wrap it with elastic, pillowcase stash it
Spit straight acid, the stars is lookin' in
I sit you on your ass, like your father should’ve did
Ladies and Gentlemen it’s the world renowned
The city’s favorite hustler I up your town
Dude keep a bad one shot, wearing her out
Her deep throat so mean, she can’t hear in her mouth???
Lot of clones out for the throne, that’s trying to be me
Call this a mean sixteen, I call it easy
SK and Elliot Ness, the George Jefferson
Strollin' a hundred miles ahead of the rest
So fuck running…
From corner to corner, state to state
City to city, play this 'till you break the tape
Now let it bang worldwide, let it bang (Hey yo!)
Now let it bang worldwide, let it bang (Hey yo!)
Yeah
Two thousand and five version of the great George ??
Iceman with the nice tan, see me in person
So imperfect, spit when the shit wasn’t worth it
Gang way deeper than what people see on the surface
And that gat, small on my back, is for a purpose
Them niggas tryn' run up on National Self Service
I’ll never be a slave or servant to any man
I’m ridin' up slow and I’m letting the semi blam
Damn, another dead body on my belt
In a land down under where your mommy can’t help
You behind on the rent? I’m something like a pimp
I grind overtime and bought the landlord a whip
Tales from the crib, the bl* is on my hip
Black bulletproof vest, a book bag full of clips
That’s deep shit, deeper than deep six
Deep as the bottomless pit, and even the abyss
Shit…
(Skyzoo)
I run the pen on the paper, on the strength of the way that the drums knock
I write whatever I feel, regardless if it gets me a deal
While these wannabes claiming they dumb hot
I treat it like him and him, you only get one shot
And if you spit one line, saying you slum rock
I’m walking away, and if you not say «son stop»
I don’t need that, and you ain’t ever seen that
You need to try being a fan, and relax
(Elliot Ness)
I can tell when the cops is looking, crack heads
Smell what the block is cooking, and which rock they pushing
«off white», strips stay open all night
Long like Lionel, got clientele
When my team surface, the fiends purchase
Run up in your crib, and rob all your workers
I ain’t trying to get money, selling dummies
The only time y’all make the paper is the funnies