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"Return Of The Great" lyrics by FES TAYLOR
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"Return Of The Great"


[Fes Taylor:]
I shed a tear for my nigga Why, then I looked up toward the cloud
Seen my nigga B-Ghost in the sky
Plus Spider-Man took a shank in his neck, me, myself?
I even been face to face with death
But yo, nothing hurt me more then when they took away flex
Treat 'em like they owe me money, son, ya'll gon' pay debts
Like, eye for an eye, this is the revenge
Fuck a drive-by, age back seat in the syringe
Hope you die slow, homeboy screaming for the five-oh
Save us like 'no way', ambulance drive though
Dead on arrival, if you my rival
If I ain't killed you, I tried to, admit I lied to
Judge Brendon to his face, for my niggas
I cock it and send it through his face, still pending a case
Still winning a race, cover your face, invisible take
Make sure you niggas see a miserable fate
It's the great when I spit on a take, Fes Taylor on a CD
When you see me, I'm the same fucking way
This is real hip hop, for the Killah Hill block
Make the world bop, like girls giving head wop
I ain't here to battle nobody, cause none of ya'll
Can fuck with me, trust me, I have your favorite rapper ducking me
A million and nine months, ya'll rappers been slipping
For too long, now your time's up, you can find us
Park Hill, by the four building, grinding it up
More drama, firing squad, lining 'em up
Laying 'em down, it's amazing, what paper do now
Have niggas you grew up with, hating your style
I tried to show 'em how to stack a couple in the bank, instead of thanks
You turn your back, they bang you with shanks
We can all get rich together, if we stick together
Buy cribs, cop whips together, shit
You went to jail together, made sales together
Got bagged, made bail together
It's like, either we succeed or we fail together
Celebrate, drink ale together, yo
This is for my homies, word life, I do this for you
Ain't a thing in this world I wouldn't do for my crew
Son, I love my hood, I blaze my block, cause it
Raise me good, to give what I got
Even though I had to pitch rock, dip from the cops
On the run from the police, sleeping in different spots
Hope my team get bagged, you hating, snitch, the lab get raided
We too smart, son, the lab is baking
They already caught 'em slipping when they ran in 3W
Wild West Wolves, three times W
Meet Two 4 War, more like a warlord
Run up on your four door, with a shot full of golf balls
'93 Halloween, running with X-Factor
2004, one of the Wolfpackers
Still packing them hammers, but I ain't trynna
Let 'em throw me back in the slammer, I act in a manner
Was more civilized back in the Atlanta
Guess it's the city, kind of like I'm rapping on camera
All hyped up, when I got a mic in my clutch
In studio booth, tough, lighting a dutch
Like a dope fiend, hiking a rush, fans screaming my name
I've returned, they glad that I came

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