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"QBX (Scared To Speak)" lyrics by TOMMY GIBBS
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"QBX (Scared To Speak)"
[feat. Lord Tariq]

[Tommy Gibbs]
Times be desperate, spit ya best shit
In this business, on some life or death
I've been high in these streets, cried in these streets
Willing, but I'm trying not to die on these streets
Got my mind on my stack, vibe on a track
Hang with them cats that twist niggas back
Gibbs moves state to state, cakin a stash
I sware, trying to watch them there, don't wanna crash
Destination far, got killas in the car
Minute we touch down, niggas know who we are
Bubble in the spot, till it get too hot
And then we blowin that one horse town back on the block
In the mix, my click stay back to back
We gon' the metal clap, till the shit jump back
Guarantee to get wet, when my bronze connect
Make moves when it's on, straight bomb ya set

[Chorus x2: Both]
Gibbs and Tariq
Got ya scared to speak
Cuz when it pop, ya might not drop
But you gon leak
Ready to die, two of the best from NY
Niggas feelin theyselves, it's welcome to try

[Lord Tariq]
The name of the father, son, holy ghost and spirit
If it's rhymes, I'mma spit it, Dutch, I'mma split it
Cash we gonna get it, Coke money to credit, we do it to debt it
These rules and bet it, Loan to Tommy Gibbs,
by any means get cream
Nigga mob we is, BX to Queens
Give a fuck about the set you screen, the set you ream
Cuz when I wave this motherfuckin tech you lean
Logic, we in it for the prophet
Won't stop less the barricade, the white stone and cars lit
Hot shit, we spit, got shit to get
Doin are own thing, 90 in a slow lane
Smoke the cocaine, trying to own things
In a Jag, bumpin Cuban, you own grown things
Two of the illest niggas, ain't shit gon' change
For this paper, I split ya brains, so get your things

[Chorus x2]

[Tommy Gibbs]
Bet it all on we, watch us push red line on these niggas
Bring the whole squad, go hard on these niggas
Ain't thinkin bout the law, just walk up to they door
Beat them to the jaw, heat them to the floor
Stop till they drill and they wrists is locked
Funny how they ain't go no more shit to pop
Make it hot for the paper, you drop for the paper
Run up in your spot, twin glocks for the paper

[Lord Tariq]
Drug caper in the rap game, quick to pull a swami
Met up with my O.Y.G. niggas in Miami
Die for the cause together nigga we family
They can't stand me, thugs up for a Grammy
Feds wanna snatch me, they caught works and scriptures
Think I don't see them in the club takin pictures
Call the phone, hang up, times they say "We gonna get ya"
If the studios bugged, with all respect
Get off my dick son

[Chorus x2]

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