[Intro]
Yeah
Stama
T-sour
Backwood Nation nigga you already know (Nicky D)
Yeah
Thank you for listening, bitches
Ha
[Verse]
End of the tape so you niggas know my fucking name
Serving all these weak ass artists and put they work to shame
It's a cold world but all a nigga know is "Spit the flames"
Scorching my lungs, in this booth I incinerate
Since my youth, I been the truth, take a look or walk in these shoes
Size 10 Jordan 3, and don't scuff em my dude
But fuck that, your fans went cold turkey since I'm going ham
They know that this the jam like crushed strawberries in my hand
I'm over they heads like barbers with the clippеrs
Or Blake Griffin with the alley and thе beat assisted
I write hooks and punchlines, I'm Sonny Liston
Wanna get crabby and steal this flow? You Jameis Winston
Now listen, I said I'm nice with the writtens
I'm so nice, you missus shine and let me pet the kitten
I'm rushed it, hit the two step when I dipped out
You'd better not kiss her in the mouth when you see it now
Niggas threw me on the track, so you know it's lit now
And for my town Staten Isle, I'm bout to hold this shit down
Pretty ugly nigga so lil bro watch your bitch now
She like my raps, I murder these tracks, I make her lips drown
It's pussy, been on her legs, don't push me
I tote you over like Q did Bishop in that movie
When $ha sees it come, emcees hit the ground
Poke your chest out, you get hand, maybe the pound
No handshakes, nigga you bare plate
A clown when you round real ones, you better not utter sound
Sour smoking, rhyme book towing that leave you open
When I spit crack in this booth, they ain't hear it, it's that dope shit
Weak niggas get clipped and thrown in the ashtray
I talk crazy on beats and blow Ki's right in your damn face
Begin to treat it like dinner, plates with the damn steak
Pack the super raps when I say the date, they hand cake
[Chorus]
Team sour to the death, uh
Style mob hit your chest, uh
See you fucking with the best, bruh
Not to be fucked with
Twenty years later my niggas still bring the ruckus
For all you peasy headed fuckers
They not ready for my warpath
My genocide is what you call that
All my niggas leave a jaw cracked
We bring the beef to your doormat
Muthafucka
Yeah
Stama
T-sour
Backwood Nation nigga you already know (Nicky D)
Yeah
Thank you for listening, bitches
Ha
[Verse]
End of the tape so you niggas know my fucking name
Serving all these weak ass artists and put they work to shame
It's a cold world but all a nigga know is "Spit the flames"
Scorching my lungs, in this booth I incinerate
Since my youth, I been the truth, take a look or walk in these shoes
Size 10 Jordan 3, and don't scuff em my dude
But fuck that, your fans went cold turkey since I'm going ham
They know that this the jam like crushed strawberries in my hand
I'm over they heads like barbers with the clippеrs
Or Blake Griffin with the alley and thе beat assisted
I write hooks and punchlines, I'm Sonny Liston
Wanna get crabby and steal this flow? You Jameis Winston
Now listen, I said I'm nice with the writtens
I'm so nice, you missus shine and let me pet the kitten
I'm rushed it, hit the two step when I dipped out
You'd better not kiss her in the mouth when you see it now
Niggas threw me on the track, so you know it's lit now
And for my town Staten Isle, I'm bout to hold this shit down
Pretty ugly nigga so lil bro watch your bitch now
She like my raps, I murder these tracks, I make her lips drown
It's pussy, been on her legs, don't push me
I tote you over like Q did Bishop in that movie
When $ha sees it come, emcees hit the ground
Poke your chest out, you get hand, maybe the pound
No handshakes, nigga you bare plate
A clown when you round real ones, you better not utter sound
Sour smoking, rhyme book towing that leave you open
When I spit crack in this booth, they ain't hear it, it's that dope shit
Weak niggas get clipped and thrown in the ashtray
I talk crazy on beats and blow Ki's right in your damn face
Begin to treat it like dinner, plates with the damn steak
Pack the super raps when I say the date, they hand cake
[Chorus]
Team sour to the death, uh
Style mob hit your chest, uh
See you fucking with the best, bruh
Not to be fucked with
Twenty years later my niggas still bring the ruckus
For all you peasy headed fuckers
They not ready for my warpath
My genocide is what you call that
All my niggas leave a jaw cracked
We bring the beef to your doormat
Muthafucka
( PXWER )
www.ChordsAZ.com