Won't Stop Lyrics
| Song | Won't Stop |
| Artist | Copywrite |
| Album | Eastern Conference All Stars III |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Models and dimes, ugly hoes follow inside | |
| Proud of my dick and mad chicks swallow my pride | |
| Getting head jobs from strippers | |
| Twisted off the eggnog and liquor, a big dog like Clifford | |
| Melt gimmicks every time I spit | |
| With rhymes like crowds in health clinics cause every line is sick | |
| I squeeze clips at each clique | |
| To see how they deal with heat when I put them under arms like speed stick | |
| Please bitch, with metal to your frame | |
| I rep the C. O. nonstop, it's the first two letters of my name | |
| Competitors are slain by this intelligent gunner | |
| Quick to pop the trunk like an elephant hunter | |
| And you might be upset, your dad and I got something in common | |
| Your mom kissing both our babies right before bed | |
| And like me or not, bitch I'm 'bout to light me a spliff | |
| So any shit you got to spit I'll more than likely forget | |
| [Verse Two] | |
| I talk a lot of shit cause I know a lot of shit | |
| Your bitch comes to my show to swallow a lot of dick | |
| So which idiot should I shit on? | |
| The one that spit on the mic or his friend who convinced him to get on? | |
| You spit your best shit on everybody's mix tape | |
| Now for your album you're left with shit you wrote in sixth grade | |
| That's why I don't rhyme on mix tapes | |
| I mix hate and science and spit straight sick shit your bitch hates | |
| On Tower I admit rape | |
| And it was well worth the gas and the switchblade it took to get laid | |
| Plus your girl looks like a great fuck | |
| But that's only from the face down and the waist up | |
| And I got eight sluts, one for each day I wake up | |
| Plus an extra for the morning I die laying face up | |
| I'll pull you out your truck, get slammed up the dash | |
| For rhyming like you got your hands and fists crammed up your ass | |
| Pull out the thirty-eight, hold it to the crowd | |
| And leave every critic's body that dissed me "Holier Than Thou" | |
| Extinguish the hottest emcee's match | |
| When I cuff the mic at twelve decibels I still get positive feedback | |
| [Verse Three] | |
| Saw your one blunt and that dirty ain't worth the buy | |
| Raw and uncut like Eddie Murphy uncircumcised | |
| When Copywrite's on tour stop and hide your whore | |
| Certified thief, alarms go off when I walk inside the store | |
| O. H. ten, been repping the state | |
| From the second I stepped on the stage till I'm dead in a grave | |
| And got a buzz but my head isn't shaved | |
| "Get the leaves and doja", sick of being sober and my medicine's haze | |
| Veteran praise and I don't write for the wealth | |
| I'll stage my own death, come back and ghost write for myself | |
| Your dis backs weren't able to help | |
| Me and RJ's like slip mats, ??? ????? turntables were felt | |
| Now pray for yourselves, still opponents lost a spar again | |
| I can't be faded like a homeless Rastafarian | |
| Before I rock the booth I need lots of loot | |
| Got it coming together like Siamese prostitute |
| Models and dimes, ugly hoes follow inside | |
| Proud of my dick and mad chicks swallow my pride | |
| Getting head jobs from strippers | |
| Twisted off the eggnog and liquor, a big dog like Clifford | |
| Melt gimmicks every time I spit | |
| With rhymes like crowds in health clinics cause every line is sick | |
| I squeeze clips at each clique | |
| To see how they deal with heat when I put them under arms like speed stick | |
| Please bitch, with metal to your frame | |
| I rep the C. O. nonstop, it' s the first two letters of my name | |
| Competitors are slain by this intelligent gunner | |
| Quick to pop the trunk like an elephant hunter | |
| And you might be upset, your dad and I got something in common | |
| Your mom kissing both our babies right before bed | |
| And like me or not, bitch I' m ' bout to light me a spliff | |
| So any shit you got to spit I' ll more than likely forget | |
| Verse Two | |
| I talk a lot of shit cause I know a lot of shit | |
| Your bitch comes to my show to swallow a lot of dick | |
| So which idiot should I shit on? | |
| The one that spit on the mic or his friend who convinced him to get on? | |
| You spit your best shit on everybody' s mix tape | |
| Now for your album you' re left with shit you wrote in sixth grade | |
| That' s why I don' t rhyme on mix tapes | |
| I mix hate and science and spit straight sick shit your bitch hates | |
| On Tower I admit rape | |
| And it was well worth the gas and the switchblade it took to get laid | |
| Plus your girl looks like a great fuck | |
| But that' s only from the face down and the waist up | |
| And I got eight sluts, one for each day I wake up | |
| Plus an extra for the morning I die laying face up | |
| I' ll pull you out your truck, get slammed up the dash | |
| For rhyming like you got your hands and fists crammed up your ass | |
| Pull out the thirtyeight, hold it to the crowd | |
| And leave every critic' s body that dissed me " Holier Than Thou" | |
| Extinguish the hottest emcee' s match | |
| When I cuff the mic at twelve decibels I still get positive feedback | |
| Verse Three | |
| Saw your one blunt and that dirty ain' t worth the buy | |
| Raw and uncut like Eddie Murphy uncircumcised | |
| When Copywrite' s on tour stop and hide your whore | |
| Certified thief, alarms go off when I walk inside the store | |
| O. H. ten, been repping the state | |
| From the second I stepped on the stage till I' m dead in a grave | |
| And got a buzz but my head isn' t shaved | |
| " Get the leaves and doja", sick of being sober and my medicine' s haze | |
| Veteran praise and I don' t write for the wealth | |
| I' ll stage my own death, come back and ghost write for myself | |
| Your dis backs weren' t able to help | |
| Me and RJ' s like slip mats, nbsp??? nbsp????? turntables were felt | |
| Now pray for yourselves, still opponents lost a spar again | |
| I can' t be faded like a homeless Rastafarian | |
| Before I rock the booth I need lots of loot | |
| Got it coming together like Siamese prostitute |
| Models and dimes, ugly hoes follow inside | |
| Proud of my dick and mad chicks swallow my pride | |
| Getting head jobs from strippers | |
| Twisted off the eggnog and liquor, a big dog like Clifford | |
| Melt gimmicks every time I spit | |
| With rhymes like crowds in health clinics cause every line is sick | |
| I squeeze clips at each clique | |
| To see how they deal with heat when I put them under arms like speed stick | |
| Please bitch, with metal to your frame | |
| I rep the C. O. nonstop, it' s the first two letters of my name | |
| Competitors are slain by this intelligent gunner | |
| Quick to pop the trunk like an elephant hunter | |
| And you might be upset, your dad and I got something in common | |
| Your mom kissing both our babies right before bed | |
| And like me or not, bitch I' m ' bout to light me a spliff | |
| So any shit you got to spit I' ll more than likely forget | |
| Verse Two | |
| I talk a lot of shit cause I know a lot of shit | |
| Your bitch comes to my show to swallow a lot of dick | |
| So which idiot should I shit on? | |
| The one that spit on the mic or his friend who convinced him to get on? | |
| You spit your best shit on everybody' s mix tape | |
| Now for your album you' re left with shit you wrote in sixth grade | |
| That' s why I don' t rhyme on mix tapes | |
| I mix hate and science and spit straight sick shit your bitch hates | |
| On Tower I admit rape | |
| And it was well worth the gas and the switchblade it took to get laid | |
| Plus your girl looks like a great fuck | |
| But that' s only from the face down and the waist up | |
| And I got eight sluts, one for each day I wake up | |
| Plus an extra for the morning I die laying face up | |
| I' ll pull you out your truck, get slammed up the dash | |
| For rhyming like you got your hands and fists crammed up your ass | |
| Pull out the thirtyeight, hold it to the crowd | |
| And leave every critic' s body that dissed me " Holier Than Thou" | |
| Extinguish the hottest emcee' s match | |
| When I cuff the mic at twelve decibels I still get positive feedback | |
| Verse Three | |
| Saw your one blunt and that dirty ain' t worth the buy | |
| Raw and uncut like Eddie Murphy uncircumcised | |
| When Copywrite' s on tour stop and hide your whore | |
| Certified thief, alarms go off when I walk inside the store | |
| O. H. ten, been repping the state | |
| From the second I stepped on the stage till I' m dead in a grave | |
| And got a buzz but my head isn' t shaved | |
| " Get the leaves and doja", sick of being sober and my medicine' s haze | |
| Veteran praise and I don' t write for the wealth | |
| I' ll stage my own death, come back and ghost write for myself | |
| Your dis backs weren' t able to help | |
| Me and RJ' s like slip mats, nbsp??? nbsp????? turntables were felt | |
| Now pray for yourselves, still opponents lost a spar again | |
| I can' t be faded like a homeless Rastafarian | |
| Before I rock the booth I need lots of loot | |
| Got it coming together like Siamese prostitute |
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