Royce da 5'9", Juan, Cutty Mack - No Talent Rappers lyrics

Whoo! Whattup Billy Nix?
Yeah, it's your man Juan!
Yeah (yeahhh yeahhh yeahhh) Street Lord Mafia
It's your man Juan, "The Real Me"
Go get that, in stores everywhere
This a monster kid (yeah) whattup Kino?
"No, talent, rappers!" - KRS-One
Whattup Bo? yeah, yeah, spit sixteen
Yeah, alright yeah

I fell in love with Hip-Hop
I wanna rap cousin
That's when he gave me a brick
Told me wrap some'n
Crack some'n, act some'n, pack some'n
Stack some'n gat some'n, back stuntin
Don't make me clap some'n
I tell niggas once, then I'm back bustin
Gats dumpin, that's nothin
Pass me the bag young'n
I beat niggas bloody - weak
Niggas swear they thugs
'til they mugs full of blood
They say J nutty
We never rock bottom, I'm on the block whylin
Flock niggas stock pilin
Squads out the drop clownin
On my 7-digit, bitch you will never get it
Spittin like that
I'm in the kitchen writin raps
With the cheddar sittin
By the Glocks and the grams
And the box of seran
In the bakin soda vision
Where pots and the pans, rockin a slab
Niggas swear they the shit 'til
They rottin in a bag

"No, talent, rappers!"
You hearin the beat nigga
Real niggas here witchu Juan
Cutty, Mack, me, Five, Nine
Nigga streets is mines
Ride out! C'mon, c'mon
Yeah, the MIC! yeah, regardless
Yeah, yeah, street BOYS!

Yeah, I'm in the drop with
The top up with cash
Mashin the pot with the Glock in the stash
You boxin you possibly got you
A shot in yo' ass
Dropped in a box in the trash
Chopped into pieces
Stabbed with the top of you leakin
Feet from the opposite half of you reekin
Cops with they badges, keep 'em
I stock 'em for cheap
(yeah) charges get dropped
Quick as I could get knocked then
I'm back on the streets
The untraceable track, mop and the bleach
(yeah)
It's a check if he gets on it, spit's on it
Wreckin the next nigga destined to flip on it
For that paper with the
Dead presidents on 'em
Best flow nigga put yo' neck
And your wrist on it
A soldier be rollin for dolo, for dollars
Yo' flow to mines is
Like a Rover to and Impala

"No, talent, rappers!"
You hearin the beat nigga
Real niggas here witchu Juan
Cutty, Mack, me, Five, Nine
Nigga streets is mines
Ride out! C'mon, c'mon
Yeah, the MIC! yeah, regardless
Yeah, yeah, street BOYS!

In a spot in a lab - and killin niggas
Is somethin that's probably tagged on
A block with the mag
While the track spittin mad
Killin whole staffs whip opponents
I'm choppin the whole car in half
I'm a gangsta nigga, if I can't care nigga
Shank a nigga
Make a nigga shakin 'til he skatin in a
Ambulance with the sirens off
In the Benz whippin off
Let my little young'ns take the tires off
Real Hip-Hop (snitches get dropped)
Cocaine, get rock, operation skip watch
I spit it street cause it's in me
I know "Death is Certain" so I merk
A nigga 'fore he merk me
Niggas act silly, 'til you catch 'em sizzling
Put the semi-slugs in 'em 'til
He shit and pissin Remy
I'm a nut punk, bust pump, snatch trunks
Mashed up, smack chumps
Look at 'em like "AND WHAT!"

"No, talent, rappers!"
You hearin the beat nigga
Real niggas here witchu Juan
Cutty, Mack, me, Five, Nine
Nigga streets is mines
Ride out! C'mon, c'mon
Yeah, the MIC! yeah, regardless
Yeah, yeah, street BOYS!

"No, talent, rappers!"