Fabolous, Ransom, Paul Cain - Bars R’ Us lyrics

Kill one of them wise guys
You gotta kill a hundred
They just keep coming after you

I done broke bread with some niggas
Read from like every book
At the end of the day I'm
Still gon' be a petty crook
In the kitchen with bricks
Ran is a deadly cook
Got these fiends running through they
Lines like Reggie Bush
Your favorite rapper is dope
But still very puss leave him in the woods
Body parts in like every bush
That's how the dessi look
The world already shook
I'm running with Saddam and we
Gunning down every bush
I use to hustle scag now I'm
In the cut with Fab


Trynna get a couple jags
Money in a duffle bag
I never fuck with fags
Make em all suffer bad
Slugs from that dirty shot gun
That'll crush your abs
I got a bodega flow, it's sort of new
Spit like some barbecue seeds
And a quarter juice you just a soft excuse
See me in a flossy coupe thug motivation
I'll show you how to get off the stoop
You better call a truce
This ain't a basketball court
But if you play
With good D then I'm force to shoot
They use to call me brute
Now I'm just awfully cute
Couple whips in the back
It's like I played a part roots
I gotta roll the dice got a heart cold as ice
You hearing these bars and you
Living through a solider's life
You got a piece of the pie
Need to control the slice
Before I catch you slipping in
Your car like Obie Trice


Got a little money, little respect
Even a little power earned
Since the day the first album
Turned and the towers burned
Now I'm letting sour burn
Waiting 'til it's our turn
And I keep squeezing 'til them
Coward learn how it burn
When I'm behind the mic
You know it's thirty thou' I earn
And I might say some crazy
Shit like Howard Stern
I'm guilty for letting Gallardo
Horse power burn
Otherwise you can't judge me
The court is now adjourned
I'm slamming the gavel
Lambo to travel nigga
It fucks the streets up
Damage the avenue nigga
The hammer will have you dancing
Like Hammer on gravel
And you know the pump-action of the gauge
I moonwalk 'em back like Michael
Jackson on the stage
The niggas that do it will be
A fraction of your age
I keep the toys washed, the boys harsh
I can get the boy squashed
Without crossing the George Wash
I do the 28 carats one take a guess
Rock one of Jacob's best?
Let the sun take a rest
Son make 'em stressed like the cops on him
Run up to your pops, warn him
While I got the drop on him
I'll put your seed in a bag, you know
Popcorn him tell him you can't sell unless
It's purple tops on them
I'll puts some guap on him and friend
Will maybe find him in a dumpster
Like they did Brenda's baby


I'm deeper than the North Atlantic
My bars done caused a panic
Every jail, up north
I ran it like a beast I dig in beats
Y'all know the kid?? stretch a lot a??
It's a dirty game and we playing
In the this bitch for keeps
I don't do shit discrete, cock sucker
This the streets
Two young guns with me and I
Don't mean Chris and Neef
Adrenaline junky, live for beef
If you don't your shit split
You getting pistol whipped until
You missing teeth
And trust if we meet, everybody here deceased
You might as well die with them
You know you gon' miss your peeps
Check my resume, my background official
Chief it's fact, I kill all raps
You can ask Pistol Pete
5-k-1 killer, I don't just disown a snitch
Load the clips, blow the blitz
From long dis' blow a kiss
Even if you know you about
To blow the 24 the?
Where I'm from you carry the load
You ain't suppose to bitch
That's why I watch who I'm around
When I pose for flicks
And I don't talk none of my
Business around these nosey chicks
I control the strip, potent shit
My soliders pitch
I got what you need whether you pop, shoot
Smoke or sniff
Everybody claims they sold it all
From o's to bricks
But if you ask around the hood
They never even sold a nick
I hear these other clowns bragging
About they blowin chips
But in the club they don't know
The difference between Mo' and Cris
There's no rapper coming close to this
Nigga all I smoke is piff
It's pure fuego in every vocal spit
A hundred thou' rap both my wrists
These new comers talking about
They run Brooklyn
Like me and Fab don't exist
You wanna hold something, hold my dick
You ain't gotta like me, I know your sick
Number 1 soloist nigga