Ridin’ Wit The Blower

Lyrics

[Intro] My brother Dizz made this What's happenin', Dizz? Yo what up COB? It's BK, what up? Billy Donohoe, what up? Sonny Black We back Oh yeah, gas pedal shit Bark at ya dawg [Verse] It's the Chuck Taylor trafficker that'll fuck your favorite rapper up Paint on the truck is black as something made in Africa Pullin' up, I'm fading half of ya Guns'll made him back it up Murder rate per capita Increases when I clap at an Actor that's fuckin' actin' up Y'all be on some beef shit I be on some peace shit, some third eye G shit Knowledge with the street shit, Chakra and the Chi shit Ancient secrets with God's signature on the leaflet Peep it, we keep the streets lit From the home of the criminals In a different dimension where generals send the sentinels Every sentence in sicko mode Every lyric sticking a sickle in your mental While the instrumental givin' your temple holes Chinchilla drippin' at shows look like I'm pimping hoes Flippin' chickens, my nigga, not trippin' on no tickets sold But that's the old me, I'm new and improved I'm moving with rules, these dudes are confused Used to swallow bottles while gettin' more boos than the Apollo crowd Now I go sober, hit the booth, hit the fuse I'm hidin' from liquor stores My spit'll cut up your vocals, it's liable to split your cords My saliva is liquid swords, my rivals'll hit the floor I'm ridin' in 64's Classic as T La Rock on vinyl, this shit is yours I'm climbin' in different floors, kickin' doors down Judge tried to throw the book at me, I'm bookin' tours now Winnin' in two courts, Allen I. up in Georgetown It was the art of war when I took your whore down Ray and Ghost shit, traphouse boomin' to Mars Purple tape shit, but I'm only built for Cuban cigars Main man, you bastards should stop frontin' Swap meet flannel on, fasten the top button I dash when the cops comin', but I'm masked, and when we gon' start blastin' And stop runnin', get harassed and pop somethin', homie Pickin' my vest up, thinkin' the pigs might pistol my chest up With hollow tips rippin' my flesh up Givin' giant holes to the next nigga lil' Tesla Fuck designer clothes, if I'm strapped, nigga, I'm dressed up Throwin' the West up, let 'em know I'm in the streets Sick apostle spittin' gospels over the illest beats And false prophets, stop it, don't wanna hear you preach Might have to blast the pastor, word to Killah Priest [Outro] West coast niggas Hundred dollar billas Nigga smokin' on some killa And we ridin' with a blower Ship you off and get you to' up Better act like you know us, nigga See you next week