Hardest Clique

Lyrics

[Verse 1: DBX] SPC is the hardest clique DBX don't give a fuck 'cause you a star that's rich When it comes to flow, we are the shit We started this from the darkened mist This Texas chainsaw slaughter shit A.C. Chill is who I'm mobbing with Ganksta NIP don't even trip on who he squabbing with We hard to hit and still on niggas talking shit PSK gon' grab your jaw and twist Point Blank gon' fuck you, bitch, even though your father's strict We are the risk when you target ditch, your car get hit Now spark and spit, you're dumped in the darkest ditch And five-o ain't solving shit They acting fraudulent when we walk into the park to sit You wanna snitch on DBX, I beg your pardon, bitch [Verse 2: A.C. Chill] If you don't give a fuck, nigga, then throw it up If your clique be coming down, nigga, then throw it up If your clique be popping trunk, nigga, then throw it up If you fuck with SPC, nigga, you know you fucked, man Hold up, nigga The diabolical, dead hair follicles cause baldness Mass murder's what you call this What determines which clique's the hardest What makes the hardest rap artist the motherfucker that stays the same regardless From '86 to 2G Just take a long look at me I ain't Ginuwine but I'm the same fucking G Still hoop and Macgregor, still kick a rhyme whenever Down to flip or fuck some hoes, still down for whatever [Verse 3: Ganksta NIP] The hardest motherfucking clique coming straight out the Park And get your head split bitch 'cause this axe blade sharp And keep it like that, nigga, the game is real You must be sick if you think a psychopath won't kill Now let me take a second just to tell you what I'm about And try to [?] everybody in this bitch no doubt You want a nigga to run inside this bitch and handle his business You want a nigga to run inside this bitch and murder the witness And move something motherfucker, the psych might do ya (*mouth sound*) just like some sand when the wind went through ya Don't give a motherfuck, nigga, the pallbearer's inside Adding up the money he would make if six niggas died [Verse 4: PSK-13] Playboy, it's whatever, whenever, however you want it Been on that other level, nigga, quick to severe opponents So fuck the world, shit trick, me and my clique forever on it They call us hustle gang vest, these youngsters caught up in the moment You heard'a me, same nigga set up shop and hooked it with cookies that weighed 33 I got niggas that watch my figures, tryna murder me Miss me with it, I'm SPC, playboy, since '93 This for the ballers and the geekers, the crawlers and the creepers The 20 inch skaters, the park bench haters Capping but you can't fade us, bitch, you down in your gators Slap a nigga for practice, bad actors major factors These the niggas I started with (Now what?) That SPC, best believe that we the hardest clique [Verse 5: Point Blank] Point Blank was richer with the crumbs before you got the bricks I'm the one when I hold three trigger your face, I slap the bitch I put our load on top of my load and I ran with it The same shit you rap about hate to see me live it Now who the fuck you was talking about in that rhyme you spit? All that giggling shit, think a nigga ain't listening to yo ass, boy Give me some space before I slap you with my dick You worse than a dry pussy bitch, can't even get my finger wet, and yeah Back in high school, I heard you was a punk Always calling home, "Mama, mama, help, they tryna beat me up!" [Verse 6: K-Rino] I metamorphosize into a new advanced fully enhanced Super brain hurricane against the grain, see futures at a glance Take a chance with the hood professor but don't try to wreck Beat 30 foreign rap opponents 30 styles and 30 dialects No mouth popping if you ever say my clout dropping Watch me run a thousand laps around your ass without stopping Proceeding to rip a style, I verbally trip a while/wire And smile and whip a pile of hoes, hit 'em, they flip a mile You played with it, K-Rino stayed with it, for days Made your face look like a grenade, hit it 400 ways You holler, "Why me?" I called his house, I knew he was home His caller ID said, "Man, you better not pick up that phone" Poets are prolific, proportioning, posing paralysis Critical writer, verse wrote when existence didn't exist Crash the show and scared the coldest rhymesayers to death Even the motherfucking microphone shit on itself I'm with the hardest clique