Ya'll Ain't Ready (feat. Livin Proof)
Quelle: Spotify
[Livin' Proof]
My west coast niggas official
You heard that them cali killers will clip you
Catch you slipping up, my circle of boss niggas'll fix you
And my Brooklyn New York shit ain’t an issue, oh
Cause it’s only this livin' proof that I give you
Hold up, hold up
Let me back this shit up one time
Get these niggas this heavy promotion shit
Chilly city
Y’all ain’t pulling them hammers up
It’s 718 562, catch a 187 38s park up your coup
Yeah, this cold shit, we hustlin' stars
Locked up stoops, touch the law when they roll
Move fast, cops gonn’ shoot, oh
And that ain’t only that coop that cooper project shit
But erm, we got joints you hit a martian with
Make you lean like they do in Dallas, Stojaković
Fly your head like Canadians on some hockey shit
Ny long beach, the mob, yeah
My nigga dice told me just booked the flight
I’m charged up, paid for D boy shit, my whole squads up
Chilly city, heavy promotion, get your arms up
You feel the fire when I light the flame
That 40 cal shine like I let the rifle aim
[Julius Luciano]
I’m a neighbor to my speech, I mean I live by my words
Mama raised me in the streets, baby crib by the curb
Still sagging in baggy pants to hold my hammer
Call it my hammer pants
When I blam the ratchet you bastards dance
Put cheese on your head, no packers fan
From Cali to Pakistan, I roll around with sick niggas
Ambulance
Living proof, fuck with your cali fam
New York city been real, since it was called New Amsterdam
I keep it candid man
You say you’re goin' h.a.m?
Can it man
Now you's a can of spam
Faggot scram!
I keep 2 women on the side, I’m in the middle like an ampersand
From the city by the sea and ample sand (Long Beach)
Yeah the shoe gang is typhoons, dig it
Our music is so vivid I call it iTunes
Yeah
Y’all small, tiny, miniature, minor
We real big, real spit, authentic saliva
[Andrew 'Dice' Dinero]
Put out a APB homie my mind is lost
How could I think twice about shooting you
When I'm minus thoughts
No time for talk
Yo, I fire that steel
I’m a honest boss so I fire at will
You just a poser nigga, you don’t pose a threat
You a actor
You should be on the set, on the set
(Shoe Gang!)
We gets it in, like no one can
Blaze our arms
Once we raise our arms
Like a show of hands
You want fame, I’ll give you the snub
Put your face on the news
Give you some pov(?)
You want your own line of clothes, I’ll send you some slubs
Put your name on a shirt after 'in loving memory of'
I still got chunks of the last crew that wanted beef in my teeth
I’m a beast, you can view it on my tweets
Your flow is choppy but fluid is my speech
You can call my spit drool, cause I do it in my sleep
Y’all ain’t ready
[Demetrius Capone]
From my fitted to my shoe strings
Nigga this is shoe gang
Repping crip or blood, that’s why I’m spitting blue flame
My ratchet your bitch, my dodger, fitted
They all 3 blue brains
Crawl the street in the new range
Niggas know I’m keepin a weapon on my waist
I draw with the first hand and the second hand a trace
Hand over hand that’s what I call crossfire
Y’all, all expire when I step into the place
In the flesh like a heroin needle
Or shake when I americanee you
I speak fluid flu and malaria meas?
I’m rarest disease you
I’m a fallout, you barely the measles
Turn a pair of police into paraplegics
Derenger seeks you
In a wheel chair, the sheriffs the sequel
Dry snitching ain’t fly
Fry and fly, apparently equal
Desert n eagle, long beach is resident evil, nigga
[Kenny Siegel]
Kenny’s in the forefront
Y’all in the back like scoliosis
Grindin, the dough that I’m folding is old as moses
Stay high
The dope that I’m smoking is over potent
It’s bout as green as the Hulk is but even more strong than Hogan
I’m stand up
But I ain’t close to joking when toaster holting
I’m quick draw
You internet dial-up, slow at loading
I’ll let my chrome explode and hurt your lungs
Like Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis!
Yeah
I eat emcees, bring me more and see me gorge
I’m frozen fire, something you ain’t never seen before
I told myself I’ma quit drinking but I fiend for more
I keep on fucking with spirits, like a ouiji-board
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Eyes low, look like I’m half-sleep
Leaning so far look like I’m driving from the back seat
I pack heat, blow my tool, you get your soul removed
I put your body on my arms like I’m holding you
Y’all ain’t ready, y’all ain’t ready to hit the streets
Y’all ain’t ready for the war, y’all ain’t ready for my team
Y’all ain’t ready, y’all ain’t ready to mop up
C.O.B heavy promotion, front get popped up
Y’all ain’t ready, y’all ain’t ready for east coast shit
West coast shit, botch coast the best coast
Y’all ain’t ready, y’all ain’t ready
This right here some real street shit
Let’s keep it all rap
Y’all don’t want no beef shit
Y’all ain’t ready
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