​billy woods - Get Out the Kitchen lyrics

Play your position or get the
Fuck out the kitchen
Take what’s yours or keep wishing my mama’ll
Tell you I don’t listen in addition, there’s
A price for admission i got pot but not
To piss in, and if you shut up
Might hear the gas
Hissing i’m already dead like a Pale-
-stinian on a mission after image seared
In the retina like faded graffiti
Cooking pies
Baked off ziti, cut you where it’s meaty
It’s what for dinner, my crew mad greedy
Sauté my forte, BK all day
Where I get it my way

Priviledge rip this, Mike Myers surveys
Spit these ridiculous flows
Ripping clothes of
The same emcee in half when he steps up
To bat, every day
It’s the same old thing: just
Some false and fronting motherfuckers
Everywhere I look around
They’re one and the same, so I touch ‘em down
With this lyrical diction, spit a hype ren-
-dition of a mic collision
With tight wisdom yo, The
Light glistens like the calm of a storm
But it’s
Type crimson time-shifters and technicians
Couldn’t keep track of how
I trek through dimensions
Did I mention spitting venomous prose
Yelling in tones scarcely
Audible? Sometimes
It’s barely when the volume go
But always problematic if you hear
Me right across from you
Whispering the kiss of death
Spitting nothing less until
These bitches coming out of dresses
Ask for Priviledge backstage i got game
Trying to mack like back in the day
Where female bathers washed my
Troubles away just like Semmi and Akeem when
They Came to America
In search of a queen i’m
Clinging by a feather on
The wings of a dream dissention, it seems
Are in the ranks
You’re getting benched on your team
Without no thanks like a trembling fiend
Spend his last on crank telling
These niggas that cats’ll come and
Push that shank while
You’re not looking not a Spike
Lee joint but still Crooklyn
These city blocks that we’re
Stuck in, we’re running, We’re
Fucking, do drugs and act tough
In like it’s nothing
This is life, cousin this is my mic and
I love it, so I’m not fronting strife coming
So we stay blunted
Olde-E-guzzling on the block ‘til
The cops tried to stop something
Pat me down "Duke
I got nothing but a combo of nuggets
You won’t find one of ‘em"
I’m holding tons, son fuck a shakedown
These badge-wearing gangsters don’t fool me
They hold guns
Like Nino Brown to a nigga back like he was
A lecherous servant is that
Protecting and serving? All
I see ‘em do is spreading
Cheeks like sexual perverts, And
The cats who deserve it skate daily
Leaving crews split up
Niggas trying to get their corner
Back like Champ Bailey
I just want to smoke L’s fat as Hank Fraley
And spit flows deeper than the
SEALs in the Navy
And if I make ten cent, it’s all gravy ‘cause
I do it for the love of the game trust me
Dawg
The struggle’s the aim, it’s all a hustle
We all one and the same