[feat. 50 Cent, Broady Boy, Nas]
You know what this is
I'm a let 'em run around one more time
I drop sumpin' on y'all
It's like... it's like
What's it like?
My microphones and glock nine
Black? I'm dipped in that
The beats' my mask, jam you for the platinum you have
Run it, the illest, watch me become it
I'm here, and took it EBOLA, like straight to the wig
Speak truth like kids, tell you what you don't know
Kobe? Yeah, he's real with the flow
Kick in the door' wavin' the flow-flow
All you heard was stop, can't take the hits no more
Ha, didn't know I had your block on SWAT?
I'm CIA, y'all nuttin' but beat cops
I rock like my ma's maiden name is cocaine
Place you on my A-fiend list and pay you 'cane
Think you can handle? Not get stripped when you rock?
Think again, you find you lost your mind and judgement
My confidence, springs from watching y'all fall
Aw, forced to hustle, rap ain't ya'll?
I'm a hop in your brain, tell you whatchu thinkin'
Yes, that's him speakin', but that ain't him writin'
So cold, I put the ice in nicest
You too broke to pay attention
My style is priceless
If you say murder that means I'm a (Thug Poet)
If I say my mind kills that means I'm a (Thug Poet)
If I say that I'm a flock that means I'm a (Thug Poet)
And when I lay it down, it makes me a (Thug Poet)
Thanks and dues for the gank and tanks of booze
Shanks and tools, it's the gangstas... Langston Hughes
My poems' about broken homes and Jesus peices
Dope as the Popes in Rome
Poetical feel, thug overtone, it's like what, holmes?
Bring her home, we both go bone
Pre-caught thoughts flow in a sober zone
My life style, chromosomes frauds, hope to clone
The crack lust, black dust, and the gat bust
The claps, the lackluster, memoirs of the black hustler
Condos, Beemers, fine hoes, coke bags, toe tags, John Does
Fiends skitzin in the plain of day, it's plain as day
It's hard to reach this mil God... anyway
Money green backdrop painted gray?
Maaan... rubber-gripped on that rainy day
Peep the way I came to play
One aim in the game, reign and stay
Abstain or stray from objective, insane to say!
'You just don't know, I'm two ticks from blowing a hole through music
But I'm mourning... pen's pouring HEN for the street wise
Who met their end,
Cause I know beneath the weed highs and Gin... dimmed
Eyes and skin, died some of our wisest men
Until the skies ascend
I pray for the day we see you rise again... through the...
Thug Poet (Street analyst is this, the)
Thug Poet (Hustlers bang out to)
Thug Poet (Flows for your block, Hip-Hop)
Aiyyo, everybody know 50 ain't know how to act
I run up on cats with gats and aluminum bats
Y'all got fat while we starved, it's my turn
Shit, I done felt how a slug burned, I still won't learn
Niggas in the 'hood a-tell ya "50 crazy"
I had your moms screamin' "They done shot my baby"
Son, I yap your shine, I clap the nine, I slap you
I'm that one of them niggas you wanna fuck with
I spit the shit that make ya keep listenin'
Keep my wrists glistenin'
I left niggas alone and they still think I'm dissin' 'em
I'm on some new shit, S-Type baby blue shit
Niggas talk behind my back but don't do shit
I ain't looking for love, duke, I'm looking for respect
I leave you with options, like die or hit the deck
I'm a thug poet, you know what I came for, the dough
Clap-clap, y'all niggas get the fuck on the floor, floor
[Nas: Echoes to fade]
[Thanks to Broady Boy ACE for correcting these lyrics]
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