Brotha Lynch Hung, CO, Tall Cann - Reachin' For Fame lyrics

Yeh, yeh
Back at that ass once again
Had to do it, bitch niggaz in the town
Ya know what I'm sayin'
I'ma tell 'em what I know
Know what I know

Word on the streets is don't quit ya day job
I own spots while you won't even
Get to own a spot
I'm unconcious sippin' on that
Sugary Saint I-des
Your raps need that Midas
Touch while mines rhymes
It's suicide fuckin' wit me, believe it
I'll tuck the fifty cal now cause
Some niggaz tried to get me
Split me in half like a joint bitch
I had it crackin'
Slugs went flyin' through ya window
Nigga I'm the captain


You just rappin' to get by
Might have to get to wrapped in a 6-5
Might have to get that
Truckin' and get locked
Nigga you taste good like sour
Cream and chives over potatoes
I'm a tornado, you just a puddle
A poodle talkin' shit 'bout to get
One put in ya noodle
Biotch ya got the nuts to
Be attackin' back at me
My chap I'm strapped have the fifty
Pound metal in the back seat
And it's all legal
Got me dumpin' at ya Regal wid the do dirty
Gotta get mine done no matter who hurt me
Every bitch I got I got the key to the spot
Better hide yo bitch before I get
The key to your spot
Stand right over ya bed wid yo glock
Put one right in ya head ya whole cake
You ain't even gon' play my shit
Rock up just like cocaine
You a no name I'm preachin'
You still reachin' for fame

Same old shit but a different day
Back at these niggaz like boomerangs
Nigga wanna come around and do my thang
Bangin' these niggaz for the dead issues
Call the paramedics to get you
Not fuckin' wid me in this lifetime
Not thinkin' in my right mind
Like Mike Tyson when it's my time
Got these niggaz hollerin' woof
Baby you ain't hard as hundred proof
My fellow you just a nigga that
Won't fit in a puddle
Piece a shit
Nut ridin' get your ass outta hidin'
Dip on 21st street ridin' there
Won't be a survivor
Yo ass ain't no McGuyver you
Done say the wrong thangs
The method that I got to give 'em bustin'
Out some teeth to say the less
You can save the rest for later
I mean I'm way to major like E-major nigga
You claimin' my game but you
Ain't nothin' but a hater
So when I pull out my tool scram
Ya riddled drain eggs and ham
You in the fryin' pan
The way I reach out and snap
A nigga like a rubber band
Oh no there goes another man tryna
Fuck wid the Siccmade fam
Uh, Uh again?, God damn

These niggaz talk alot of shit but
Don't really know about C-O
That sneaky motherfucka hit ya
Ass like ya P-O
When ya least expect it with
The cold Smith and Wesson
Have my bitch
Set you up at the telly get you undressin'
Then it's lights camera action
My pistol's blastin'
Ya night went from cashin'
To missin' fractions
But shit do happen, so ya shoulda been ready
Instead of doin' all that yappin'
Shoulda copped you somethin' heavy
We deadly
Like rattlesnake bites y'all
The taddlin' type
Deal wit my pain and probably rattle ya life
So instead of worryin' about ours
You need to see
What's the matter wit ya life?
What's the matter wit ya life boy
Ya can't get it right?
What's the matter wit ya life boy
Ya can't get a life?
Then spark it up this hitter does
So ya can't get no ice
So now ya wanna hold a grudge wid
Niggaz like us
Beause we move shit like drugs
Where y'all stayin' and cus
And talk about the same shit all day
And us we on the next page
And after that the next page
So try again the next day if
You can't fade us today
Practice makes perfect lil' guy
Stay in ya place

I'm a Southside rider, funk provider
Leave you in the trunk tied up
Punk ya lied to us
Just to tryna glock wid us get a
Piece of the pie wid us
We too O-G, I don't fuck wid them mics cuz
I'm diggy down it will take
Plots to get me now
And I got the fifty thou
Wanna bet ya not get me pow
I'm the threat starter fire starter put
A hole in ya Starter
And you couldn't find me cause
It's time for departure
Tryna get ya CD's out, I know it start ya
Blame it on me I got heat
I leave ya scortched up
I'm on the porch and nuttin' up
Southside, keep locked
Where the G's knock niggaz
Out for fuckin' up
We tuck 'em up
Me and C-O and Tall Cann
You can't fuck wid us
We somethin' rough you niggaz be punkin'
Up we got pumps and stuff
All up in the trunk and stuff
We be waitin' for attack
Get me sprayin' on ya pack and
Now you layin' on ya back
You ain't payin' all ya rap
Taxes institute of malpractice
I put ya raps in a casket you half plastic
Patty mealed ass nigga put ya
Raps in the thrashbin
Ya clashin' wid the Burbank
Titan fasten ya seatbelts
I'm bout to make ya meat melt
That beer breath spittin' meat chunks
At ya wig punk
I fear less rather hear less
You niggaz is tryna pay less
I make ya days less trippin' on
The famous tryna get famous
Nigga please

Ain't nobody fuckin' wit me
This side of the city
Northside gangsta ride turn you
Liars to sissies
You ain't bangin' shit so miss
Me wid ya bullshit comment
You know me
I worship drama that was a
Curse from my momma
So if you wanna bring it here boy
Northgate in El camino I'm right here boy
All day long all night strong
We be runnin' the North
And I can have niggaz from your hood
Run on ya porch
Ya little cowards keep the gun in ya shorts
We keep the blunts and the ports to blaze up
After ya spirit raise up you still
Think you can rap you need
To give them days up
It's gonna cost you ya cap
Takin' cheap shots at us
So cuz toss me the strap and
Put these streets on hush
Because they full of wack niggaz
And they speak too much
And now we can't have that
Because we G too much
So I'ma end it on this
Fact nigga'll bleed too much
Ya keep talkin'