Eddie B, Termanology, Sean Price - The Warning lyrics

Stay calm, don't make me spit the napalm
Half A rap bitch, I can make bombs
I can make moms come inside they're panties
I'm breaking up your family
Like little orphan Annie
You rappers hardly manly
That's because you bitch me
I be kicking dope
Verses sharper than a switchblade
I twist haze but I mix it with the twizzle
I'm in your bitch and you, dummy
You just that sequel
Yella, yella, mraah, I love my people
I'm on point like uncle Najib
With the desert eagle every P is lethal and
Everyone should know that
I rock a fresh Yankee with
The berries in this throwback
You so whack, hold that in your cranium
My shot like the lights hanging
Over a giant stadium
You rappers shouldn't play with him
He burns cats alive
Like a Chinese chef, a quarter after five
Peace!

Truly concrete, I spit street strictly
Don't overstay the stay, I keep heat with me
Whenever I lay my hat, it's good
Whenever I spray my gut you
Know that I'm good
Mandela, Sean is my covering
Everything I spit
Shotgun with the rubber grid
Summer shit, pad polo shorts
Lengthy blue ones on
Pull the White T fan mail, fuck you doing
Sean? You right, fuck clothes, fuck flows
Diabolic, the shit that fighting was
Probably candy to pop
Hit's you in them bands and you're shot
Rubber to the dark side, you make Anakin stop
Planning to pop, niggas ain't planning to pop
Dismantle your knot then I
Manhandle your guap
Keep it loot across the board
Don't make plans with the cops
These niggas will have your status be
As hot as a cop

My bitch a cannibal 'cause she eat dick
36 chambers meets Mafia 36
Three fifths of these rappers is fake
The other portion is late
'Ology, Harry Ford in the place
We make hip hop
That'll leave a scar in the game
A box cutter, ice cutter
Chainsaw on the blade i sell drugs
Bring my whole block in the game
Whole club full of leakers tryna
Plot on your chain
I rock jewels, both hands is King Tut
Do you cast 30 even though I'm clean cut
Jean pack the stuff and ready
To pack the scene's up
30 countries in two years, I gotta keep up
Speak up when you talk to me, son
I ree up with bosses
So I ain't fucking with you, impostors
Got a Macbook that's filled up with mad hoes
Damn hooker's butt, man, you know how it goes
We treat 'em cold