The Intro (BSB Vol. 6)

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Young Lito] Look, it's the rook the vets fear A breath of fresh air and Js from next year Haters talk threats but see me and just stare While I'm pushing something foreign, fast and next gear I be bossing, convertible Porsche'ing Thank God my momma ain't get that abortion Balling on these haters sometimes can be exhausting But I'm 'a keep stunting 'till they put me in a coffin Young nigga talking all greezy, jewelry all freezy Five chains on, momma says I look cheezy But these women love me, they tell me they'll never leave me I just want the money, these honeys gotta be easy I'm living 'Vida Loca', riding with the toaster Sold coca 'cause being broke wasn't kosher Teacher said go to college, me, I said 'no, sir' I want a roadster and you drive a Toyota I'm riding on the road to riches, flexing I ain't even into fitness, it's a blessing On everything, God's my witness, I was stressing But now a nigga back to business That Lito tape [Interlude: Troy Ave] Man, we built this shit from the ground up Self-made and self paid so the haters got they frowns up Shit, as long as the bitches and the bank tellers smiling, it don't matter Real niggas never get involved in chitter-chatter, I'm over it See-me-out type of nigga And we be out on the regular Niggas couldn't call me out if they had my cellular Hello? Bad reception, Metro PCS ass niggas BSB Records is the number one independent label in the streets We're about to run the game and you can smell defeat Ah, that's the smell of success, niggas Young Lito, a.k.a. Young [Flito?] You're up next, I'm 'a shoot like a free throw [Verse 2: Young Lito] Yo, Ave told you, Lito's taking over Straight from the bottom and 'bout to bubble like soda That's shook-up, don't even ask what's up 'Cause clearly it's me, you motherfuckers better look up I'm probably in a spaceship, neck full of stones on some "grave" shit Styling on them niggas that you came with You niggas is basic, ain't 'bout action, you just say shit Till that big Mac curl you up like a wave kick [Pakah?], nigga I ain't a rapper I'm a gun clapper in the field like a Packer But this AR ain't got a team, it's got a beam If you're frontin', I'm 'a let it b'ring, I do my thing Man, you haters don't move me, niggas know I do me Eight grade I had eightballs in my Coogi Had all the Jordans, but a nigga wanted Gucci So my greed 'd turn your Pops into Pookie Girls and the groupies, friends and the haters Shit, I just wanted to shine like Vegas But niggas don't want to see you shine when their light's dim Them other niggas wash, man I ain't nothing like them It's Lito