Fatt Father, Roc Marciano, Guilty Simpson, Sean Price - Grime lyrics

Killas, yeah! Y'all done fucked up now
That's right
I don't even know why I'm on this track
I called up some of my big homies
And we gonna ride on you bitch made ass
Playa hatin' ass niggas
And we ain't even players, we're coaches
Bitch!
(Straight from the sewers of detroit, y'all)
Coaches (Simpson, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em)
We tell you what to do! (Yo)
Get on the field nigga! Run, RUN!

The Grim Reaper's godson
I disarm you with that shotgun
And pop one, you're harmless, and now armless
I follow these rap artists
And drop my targets in Target
More cans than a supermarket
Paper or plastic
Watch 'em fade away when I blast it


I'm a kush hit, from starting
War on some Bush shit
I make up beef and break up teeth
And charge cats to rebuild
That made up-street
There's not one too big for caskets
I'm a walking hazard
I'm a straight up beast!
I make a motherfucker wake up sleep!
Warrior mode
I'm letting all you foreigners fold
I shut it down like I'm border control
Learn about it
Before you get murdered 'bout it
You don't have to choose cause I kill
You with the fork in the road motherfuckers!

Guns like Yosemite, funds like Joe Kennedy
The belly of the beast, taking
Tums won't do diddly, so
Fuck an athletic ability, I'm gaining weight
And losing it in 24 hours
Trying to stay in shape
Hustle with amazing grace but I ain't
Been to church in ages
You go to Dunham's for bats
I go to purchase gauges
The next time it's a wrap
You under dirt and pavement
No body, no need to make arrangements
Dangerous, the niggas I call
Broke and home team
Sanctioned by the gutter but anxious
To do their own things
Along came a rider that
Sat down besides green
And told that bitch to listen, "now, you
Just a team in my league, "
You only getting high if you
Rolling up my weed
And she ain't said "Hi" unless
She been fucked by me! (Bitch)
Try me
I'm running through them like I'm in the IV
I should've been a car because
The Motor City designed me, bitch!

It ain't over, n'aw it ain't over
See we're gonna take the show on the road
We're going to New York
So my niggas Sean P and Roc Marciano
Can show you how they get down!

Phantom of the opera, a cannon that'll pop ya
A tree hugging bitch sending
Damage to your chakra the AK'll chop ya
What I cop the machete for?
Swing, leave you punch drunk
Lookin' for Betty Ford
Back smack niggas, my Gat clap niggas
Dude you food for fat rap niggas, Sean P
I be holdin' it down, notice the style
Gettin' bigger since a nigga
Started eatin Golden Corral! (Psh)
2Pac who? 2Pac me? Shit, the tool pop you
Now who got D? (Juice)
No Omar Epps, orangutan gang
Bang with the crowbar, yep!
Sean Price, I'm a grown ass man
Fuck a fist fight I grip the fifth
Tight and let the chrome blast fam!
Listen, I got my shit in order fengshui
But a nigga still wreck the buffet
Shut the fuck up, P!

Cool capers, that made the papers
Escape with glaciers, jake chase us, evasive
Scarface is aces, shake them agents
Bang the gauges on the cages
Slang in front of bodegas with gangstas
Tie fly shoelaces, pursuin greatness
Embrace this
Your crew is chew like tubesteakers
A gang of big faces and suitcases, tenacious
My wave game is like an
Oasis your flow is basic

This ain't entertainment this how we pay rent
Then jump in that grey Benz
Like a young Jay Prince, you content
My skin is radiant
Rhymes is evil like Damien
Hard body flesh is titanium
You about as solid as baby shit
My spit leave your lady bewitched
To keep the chrome 380 to babysit
When you pay me with chips that's
Short like the Haiti kid motherfucker!
Marc nigga
Rock your mother fucking knot, boy!