Scape Goats

Lyrics

[Intro: 38 Spesh] It's the motherfucking Trust huh Yeah, huh, ayo [Verse 1: 38 Spesh & Ransom] I go to war in beast mode Extended clip on a .44 is a cheat code I get bread and get head from freak hoes But don't sleep in the bed with em, like they my street clothes Let's reload, you can't be a renegade with a weak soul You'll die without a reasonable doubt for trying to repeat Hov He said he wanna rob my line, for some kilos I'm shooting behind my line, like free throws What we chose, an elaborate enterprise to incentivize No genocide, I'm dirty as Puff when he pushed Jen aside Defend your pride, you see my shine popping off in the night club Excite thugs, but numbers don't lie, women and men'll lie You been advised and I don't mince words much I deserve such Summertime, preparing for winter, getting my furs fluffed, you heard what? They said cocaine was my first crush Every time I break a brick, I get a surplus Trust, been locked since a shorty Can't be my man running with niggas that's not for me Huh, before you get popped with this .40 I ask, "Is you dying with the opp like Naughty" Huh, my life is a top story I throw a rat from the window of the top story I don't just grab one brick, I cop forty If it's five of y'all on one brick, that's a block party What you got for me? I aim for your soul but I am not Tory I stop glory, I squeeze, I ain't even freeze when the cops caught me Let's not bore me, I been a drink champ before the ink stamp These bullets interrupt when you speaking, I call them shots N.O.R.E You not Horry, this ain't game six and you're not a big shot You probably picked locks, sold some weed in your mama's ziplocs Nigga kick rocks, I'm known for sparring Pay in full or bury your bones in Harlem They don't feed us, nigga we supposed to part em [Verse 2: Che Noir & Ransom] Smoke the stardom, a fast thinker just made me slow to karma I paint a canvas with weapons, it's like a poem for artists Erase niggas when it's lead at ya Bloodshed after done turned funerals to a Met Gala Request rappers for torture, I leave you tied and crooked The taste of blood on my fingers, that's when it's time to cook it Right when you starving for death, that's when I'm hyped to pull it Russian roulette I serve to these rappers, told em, "Bite the bullet" Queen, they barely gon' tow the line but I like to push it Scarred face, ghetto boys stacking bills bout the height of Bushwick You was never man enough Them tales of your prison stints and the grams you cut Ever seen a dope fiend die while he standing up You scamming us There's no back and forth in front of the cameras You question me, it'll be the look in my eye that'll answer ya Tarantula, got eight arms on me, no long story That's for amateurs, I got a small army if y'all harm me I talk Godly, was a kid, played on porches with small Barbies Surrounded by shooters that's resembling Bob Marley You ever seen a fiend die while watching from your porch But they ain't know he was dead so they still was talking to his corpse? I wrote classics, spoke with passion with no practice The poems I'm rapping be the reason I'm gold status Sold tactics cut from a cloth that's too old fashioned With body language you can't understand with a closed caption