Lyrics

[Intro: DJ Rated R & Big Will] Uh It's that funky shit right here (East End Empire, baby) Can we get So Infinity? (East End Empire) Drew Cline How High: The Mixtape Ill Spoken, EZ Mac, Beedie, Rated R, Diggz (East End Empire, baby) Yo, it feel like it's an awards show in this bitch, man (Uh, yo, yo) Ayo, step back, I'ma have [?] right in this (Motherfuckers) [Verse 1: Beedie] It's an assortment of Pittsburgh's hardest Hardest you brew like a harvest So they sought us out to pick out which of us come the farthest (Haha) It'll be "Fuck you" (Fuck you) to them haters down in Honest 'Cause, honestly, who's the hardest at breakin' out of the harness? And takin' whoever bothers me, my little crew of peoples (Uh-huh) This the East End Empire, hell-fire's my equal The heat'll have you arguin', part of you jockin' us (What?) I'm the arsonist, leave you wonderin', "What was the cause of this?" (Haha) Chemical flow, was it liquid or solid? (Um) Well, I'm lettin' you know I'm ready to blow and that's the goddamn target (What's up?) I work the game with perfect aim, it's in my pencil (Uh-huh) And I won't ever fake a trace around the frame of a stencil And I'm sorry, I won't refrain to offend you I have your dumb dame runnin' the train Givin' me brains up in every venue (Biotch) Those wimpy legs, bitch lookin' chicken like a breast Been tryna take you to the crib so I can stick it in the flesh Only pick the best, but you get a test Gotta see if she can suck it, 'cause I'm sicker with the sex Girl, slip out of your dress and get comfortable (What?) This is somethin' for the money-makers out there tryna live they lifes wonderful (Where they at?) Me and my team will strike the game like a thunderbolt And leave you wonderin' whether we will never pull the rug from under you (Woo) Me and my mans tryna set it in motion We on scam, tryna get it like ocean Oh shit, this the jam and I'm coastin' And you know we got a plan to get that big money up in our hands No bullshit [Verse 2: Big Will & EZ Mac] East End, yeah, we know there's young vets in the game (Uh-huh) Makin' our paper longer 'cause we gettin' this change (This money) You can catch us smokin' piff in the back of the Range Or up in your crib, stickin' long pipes in your dame (Ayo, girl) Ill Spoken crew, we are fuckin' insane (Fucking insane) We bang tracks up, spittin' lyrics aflame (What?) Your crew is wack 'cause you all sound the same You need to stop rappin' and chasin' our thing 'Cause this is hip-hop, fuckin' with me, I'll make your wig pop Sippin' forty ounces down to the last drip-drop Beedie and Mac climbin' up to the tip-top We stand up strong, and no, we don't flip-flop Spittin' wack shit, the crowd be like, "Kid, stop" Come down to Pittsburgh and get your whole shit knocked (Ill Spoken, Big Will) [Verse 3: EZ Mac] Smokin' extra fire, so we need that gasoline-a Atom bomb all day, call it Hiroshima Fresh bag of haze, I ain't fuckin' with the Tina Turner, burn the weed faster than a cheetah Reefer smellin' like a bowl of fresh fruit (Ah) We chemists, cookin' bomb trees in a test tube I ain't mad sellin' weed to a dude in the eighth grade (Nope, nope) I sold weed to his dad on the same day (Ha) It's the mark of the beast, the stroke of a genius Tryna find a music bitch to play some notes on my penis Jesus, I think this boy's gone crazy All day we blaze tree, this bomb hazy (True) You want some rules? Join the Army or the Navy Ain't my beat, "Ain't I," JAY-Z (Chyeah) [Outro: Beedie & DJ Rated R] Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone for comin' out East End Empire, baby, The Ill Spoken (That's how it is) The Ill Spoken, you know we ain't playin' no games