2015 BET Hip Hop Awards - Live Cypher

Lyrics

[Verse 1: T-Top] Somebody get me out the hood, man, time is tickin' Last year, a nigga could've been a homi' victim I was stuffing twenty pales in a Honda Civic Like 'fuck the law!' as long as my mama with it Before the bricks, man, a nigga couldn't find the women I used to tell 'em I love 'em, I had to lie to hit it My ex-bitch spend all her free time in strippin' They're like "I just seen the girl", I'm like "I'm in business" I'm from the gutter, why would I listen to y'all opinion? Your voice-box ain't the same with a hollow in it I turn into a different nigga when I'm tired of pitchin' Man, I'll shoot my own work if a dollar missin' Bar raiser, Carolina star player No time for Harvard, I went to school with a hard shaver I had a job, cooking, called it hard labor Park Life, we're the bar shaper [Verse 2: DNA, K-Shine, DNA & K-Shine] BET Award, that's a fact I'm charged up, let's kill this shit, back to back We wildin', feeling like Kiss, nigga, we stylin' Outkast, Big Boi, we like to hold 3000 It's on now, wish you niggas would bring the wall down Let them try snoop, don't worry, I got my dog pound Now it's two targets to think, that's the short, clown Make the kid nap in your crib; Rick Ross style Oh god, they couldn't find a prison that can out-bar me Tried to go right, I went left, you can't southpaw me Have you next to kin in the box; that's without Barbie Have it kick together and spin on them; house party We're doing this since Smack DVD The work uncut, like the old BET Niggas can't see the world, 'cause they're wrapped in [?] They want killers on the cypher, now they're access granted I swear I'll leave them red, man, there's never been a method to it I guarantee any beat I get on, I'ma execute it Birdies only stay fly, nigga, we gon' never lose it This 2-on-2 shit, the best to do it [Verse 3: Charlie Clips] Should I go black power? Should I just give 'em some bars? Miracle Whip; soft white shit in the jar Fiends singing, "It's alright"; Kendrick Lamar For the dough, boy, I'll let the tre enter your car Then "BOW!", I always got two Glocks with me And a pump like the black nigga who shot Ricky And a Tommy, in case my whole crew not with me Got the power to lift the ghost with two Glock 50's I tried to tell these haters that I've been fire Too many characters, it's messing up the empire Niggas lying on how they gon' blaze a shell Your squad ass, your camp full of K Michelles Got an attitude like Eazy-E I went from EBT to BET I'll let this MAC burn your disc, like a DVD The clip drop out, I guess it want its GED Woah, if you don't want to follow, I don't give a damn If you do, @TheRealCharlieClips on Instagram Ayy, Bus, I had to show 'em I'm a problem What's the best borough in the world? Harlem [Verse 4: Rain 910] Yeah Cop drew his pistol with my hands up high Tell 'im, "I ain't scared of nothing, it's a perfect day to die" They shootin', badge on, ruthless The way they get away with it, might as well get the nooses Now picture us hand in hand I shed tears when I see pictures of Sandra Bland Moment of silence; no more marchin' I'm condonin' the violence and all of the riots Scream 'payback!' as we clique up and get 'em Innocent victims killed by a menacing system They might ban my verse for the fact that it was a [?] To make you act ratchet; simple mathematics But this is Huey Newton suited for his final dance This isn't for Caitlyn Jenner or Empire fans This only for the soldiers in the field Loading up they ammo, 'cause they know it's getting real Eyes of a trafficker, rewrite the vernacular If Trump gets elected, I'm packing up back to Africa I'm not a rapper, I just rapidly report the thoughts of the Urban community, take what ruins it, give it back to ya It play loud in your home, your kids breath it Daughters turn into Miley, sons into Slim Jesus Now we even, as long as it keeps repeating I have every kid in the 'burbs [?] Free Po, Rock, Gutta Free, and Si They can trap your body, but can't freeze your mind I'm conflicted, want my people to walk like this But the d-boys is saying, "Rain, talk that shit!" So I'm live from the gutter, nigga, I ain't sleep in five days Young Frank Sinatra, partner, I did it my way Don't let me hit the blazer button, I can cause a crime wave *Do, do, do* leave your blood on my Cavallis Papa script and the chick play up in the right day Eating dinner at red sticks, I don't dine at Fridays The trappers, man, I'm receiving they blessin' With the ghetto [?], coat fresher than a prom date High school dropout, still they watchin' my pockets Loopie, I spend hooptie money on watches Salute me or shoot me, boy, get your muscle up Carolina king, Fayetteville's favorite hustler We got a customer