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Ya'll mutha****as know who this be |
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It's Theodore, yo, let me hear somethin' my nigga |
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Let me hear something |
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[Wigs] |
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We the champion, we spit like, top of the line |
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Hold weight while you still push nickel and dime |
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And my shine hold my stones than your local jeweler |
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More ice than a picnic cooler, Slick Wigs the Ruler |
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Round the raincoat, stash my gat in the car wash |
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How I got such a smooth flow, but I spit too harsh |
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Butter nut squash leather, big face cheddar |
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Don't **** with no groupie, hid in a high school sweater |
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We rope rats, roll money stuffed in stacks |
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Rock show after show, and don't claim no tax |
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Got custom deep pockets and my pimpin' slacks |
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And my tephlon shirt, in case they got gats |
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[Trife Da God] |
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Yo Wigs, this is Theodore, you know how we rock it |
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[Solomon Childs] |
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Trife Da God, show these niggas why they ain't poppin' |
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[Trife Da God] |
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I'm not enthused, by these rap dudes |
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All in they videos, posin' half nude, with all of them tattoos |
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Til I blacken they eyes and have them lookin' like raccoon |
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Now they stuck tail, stuffed in they ass like a baboon |
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I do you dirty like a table chop, and the blocks on fire |
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These niggas be rockin' more wires than a cable box |
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Hit you with a fatal shot, lay you to rest |
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Get your cradle rocked, by two glocks aimed to your chest |
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They say it's deep, and never lose his stripes |
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Well put his ass in a cage with this iron, bet he lose his life |
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I'm a beast like Priest Holmes, keep spittin' them weak poems |
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And I'mma wreck you and straight disconnect you like cheap phones |
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You can ride for you team and die with the marines |
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For tryin' to intervene, while I'mma tryin' to get this CREAM |
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[Ghostface Killah] |
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Aiyo, knick knack patty wack, light up, twist a fatty jack |
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Four shotties, and playin' them lobbies where those cracks be at |
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Stay foul, break vows, niggas sniff gun pow-der |
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Check my caliber, make sure it register |
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Bring forth your head and stuff, don't wanna huff, puff |
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Or cuss, get stuffed in little bags, like angel dust |
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Check out the bangle cuts, double rocks, tangled up |
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And couples got bubbles, in the tub, lightin' the double Dutch |
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Hey, hey, hey, Ghostface and Donna Jay |
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Trife Dies', Killa Bamz, Wigs, Kryme got the yay' |
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All day, all up in your hood like court dates |
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Concealed heat, like a sheep dog or a NorthFace |
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Small space, more bass, polly like shore bait |
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Molly got four trays, and pinned dog with raw haze |
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Just like the old days, Willie Mays, with a low cut fade |
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Duster play the Giant, when I'm on stage |
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[Trife Da God] |
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Pretty Tone, yeah I see you in the cockpit |
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[Solomon Childs] |
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Donna Jay, put his face in the dirt like an ostrich |
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[Cappadonna] |
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Nah, I don't really have to spit nothin' to complex |
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I just rep for my hood, and it sound correct |
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It's mic checka, Juan Don, in the place to be |
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And I be playin' on these tracks, like one, two, three |
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One some Theodore shit, like it once was me |
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With the laid back shit, like the country be |
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Bone the hoes, all the time, smoke blunts with G |
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Goon Squad Hooligans, got fronts in Jeeps |
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Why you jealous mutha****as gotta jump my beats |
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Trife Diesel and Ghostface dump they heats |
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In your face, real hard, straight lump they meats |
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Wont sell cracks to you, but I pump the streets |
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And tear pussy out the frame, while you hump the sheets |
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And I know ya'll niggas hate, and can't wait til I'm gone |
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That's why I keep drivin' on by, tootin' my horn |
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Da-da-da-de-da-duhhhh |
