Royce da 5'9", Crooked I, Joe Budden, Bun B - Nobody Fucking With Us lyrics
[Royce da 5'9", Crooked I, Joe Budden, Bun B - Nobody Fucking With Us lyrics]
Let's get it started like
Transmission and alternators
Got the keys in the cage
Ready for who you call the greatest
Taking 'em down from the biggest
Bitches to smallest haters
I'm 'bout to serve these niggas
Call 'em waiters
Got my mind right, money right, ready for war
And I got the C4 under my competitor's car
These niggas running 'round
Talking 'bout they better than moi
When I'm done, all that's
Gon' be left, bitch
Is your head and your bra (Damn)
Bitch, I'm the head of the pack
And I'm ahead of the game
And I put your head on a platter
You put some shit on my name
Bitch, I'm the shit see the stains that
I done left on the track?
And I ain't saying no names
But I left the best on they back
And they ain't saying no names
So I gotta say it myself
I'm finger-fucking this game
So you gotta play with yourself
Don't pull a K off the shelf or
Pull a strap out the stash
I ain't gotta draw the pistol
I'll be clap at your ass
I just let the hands of God
Toe tap on you fast
Leave you mashed like potatoes on
The top of the grass
Call the coppers to catch me and they'll
Just tell you to drop it
I'll find you sooner or later
And they can't do shit to stop it
Got that thang and I'ma pop it
Like a bubble on the double
I am trouble in the flesh
You can't see me with the Hubble
We ain't wishing these niggas good
Luck go get a clover
This Bun B, it's B-E-3, this shit is over
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! Whoo Kid!
Look at your man look back at
Me yeah, I know sickening, huh?
If you got a Porsche with only two
Doors, then you need to upgrade
'cause you missing some
We just got two different
Bills, different styles, different sums
Started as a drive-by, ended as a hit-and-run
Stop me in the streets
Let it be properly when you greet
Fuck looking for me
I'm on your property if it's beef
Not for robbery of your piece
It's lobotomy with my peeps
That camaraderie is usually sodomy
For the beat
'Less my critics put a lens on them
So I could look through it
"Shut the fuck up" probably mean that
You too shook to do it
We'd see two pennies to your name
Yet you so saucy when I fix this game
You can thank me later for it no Aubrey
Switch my demeanor up, I'm off my 380 shit
My future's bright, stars is by my head
Baby shit
Make me sick, what you eat don't make me shit
Found out the reason they hate me is
My God-like presence must be atheist
While all of the frauds in
Rap is talking swag, put a fork in that
Slaughter's back listen, nigga
I got houses all across the map
Even got a Boston pad, got
This bitch from Boston, bad
Would put her in a wrestling move
But I heard she got that Boston Crab
Batteries in your back, go by what he say
Just need you to know that it's no leeway
And the tables'll turn go DJ
So you know what that blindfold's for
That bloodshed's a secret
Let's keep it behind closed doors
Who you said was dope again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you said was hot again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say could spit again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say was dope again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
I'm the present and the future
Like Christmas in 2012
I'm the present in the future
An executive producer
You will never get to choose your
Destiny 'cause you a pessimistic loser
Mess with me and I'll definitely shoot you
I'ma do's you like I'm repping the Yakuza
Die hard like I'm sexing
With Medusa do something, nigga!
Born thuggin', I don't fuck with the cops
Nuts hang down my pant leg
Balls tucked in my socks
I ain't gotta act tough to
Get a couple of props
Little nigga raised hisself
I don't know what's up with my pops
Do I think I'm the dopest in America? I do
Make you switch your whole style
Like you're dating Erykah Badu
Pair of Ferragamo shoes, I will stomp you
I'm fucked up, like the relationship between
Farrakhan and Jews
I'm spanking this instrumental
Like a wrinkly old bitch
I'm whipping the kick and snare
Make 'em pick they own switch
I'm smarter than computers that know how
To fix they own glitch
I'll leave you face down
Like chicks who lick they own tit's
And from this day forward
Crooked is aging backwards
Getting younger and fresher, putting bums
Under some pressure, yes, sir!
Watch the next Slaughterhouse album
Every line is white powder I
Ain't talking 'bout talcum
I am tighter than The Biggest
Losers cruisin' in a SmartCar
Distinguished alky, the flask on the armoire
I'm from the home of the
Most popular bomb weed most proper
Hoes rock with my partners who top-seed
Pour vodka
We gon' bottle-pop in the calm breeze
No copper can stop a COB star i'm a giant
Dumping my cigar ashes out on
Top of the palm trees
Chrome chopper: If I squeeze
You drop on the concrete
You wanna talk about the paper? Oh
Let's do it
Battered-pocket syndrome the money
We gon' abuse it
Still getting out-of-town paper so
Don't confuse it
Tell the Hip-Hop cops, "Nah, it's only music"
And haters steady eavesdroppin' on
The Bar Exam
Probably in your trunk now dependin'
On what car I ram
Who you said was dope again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you said was hot again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say could spit again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say was dope again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Flow tight I should probably
Ghostwrite for your idol
My pen game is godlike I
Could write for the Bible
I'm so good that after I rock it tonight
I'ma go "Sexual Chocolate!" and drop the mic
Don't even attempt to stop me, mention me
Top me my pencil is nice you should only
Mentally be dropping the dice
I'm a speech beast you best
To not approach me matter of fact, I think
I second that emotion, like a retweet
My stock going up like a Lamborghini door
I feel like Chuck Woolery in
The damn Bellini store
You playing yourself you remind
Me of the lotto you was good, and then
You turned hood you remind me of Moscato
I don't aim, I'm like Dick Cheney
The four spray and light your head up
Like Lo Pan when he gets angry
This ain't "Simon Says
" bitch this what Ryan says i hit the track
And it's a wrap like Aunt Jemima head
I'm beyond out of my mind
If you can imagine using Magic's
Johnson without a condom, i'm bonkers!
Yeah, got the streets going
"Dude is tremendous"
If I come for your blood
I ain't gon' be using syringes
I am raw there is a
Difference between I and y'all you opposed
You throwing fireballs at an iron wall
The sound of Alan Grunblatt signing
His name on the dotted
Line on that paper is your
Favorite rapper signing off
Ha, hahaha
Transmission and alternators
Got the keys in the cage
Ready for who you call the greatest
Taking 'em down from the biggest
Bitches to smallest haters
I'm 'bout to serve these niggas
Call 'em waiters
Got my mind right, money right, ready for war
And I got the C4 under my competitor's car
These niggas running 'round
Talking 'bout they better than moi
When I'm done, all that's
Gon' be left, bitch
Is your head and your bra (Damn)
Bitch, I'm the head of the pack
And I'm ahead of the game
And I put your head on a platter
You put some shit on my name
Bitch, I'm the shit see the stains that
I done left on the track?
And I ain't saying no names
But I left the best on they back
And they ain't saying no names
So I gotta say it myself
I'm finger-fucking this game
So you gotta play with yourself
Don't pull a K off the shelf or
Pull a strap out the stash
I ain't gotta draw the pistol
I'll be clap at your ass
I just let the hands of God
Toe tap on you fast
Leave you mashed like potatoes on
The top of the grass
Call the coppers to catch me and they'll
Just tell you to drop it
I'll find you sooner or later
And they can't do shit to stop it
Got that thang and I'ma pop it
Like a bubble on the double
I am trouble in the flesh
You can't see me with the Hubble
We ain't wishing these niggas good
Luck go get a clover
This Bun B, it's B-E-3, this shit is over
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! Whoo Kid!
Look at your man look back at
Me yeah, I know sickening, huh?
If you got a Porsche with only two
Doors, then you need to upgrade
'cause you missing some
We just got two different
Bills, different styles, different sums
Started as a drive-by, ended as a hit-and-run
Stop me in the streets
Let it be properly when you greet
Fuck looking for me
I'm on your property if it's beef
Not for robbery of your piece
It's lobotomy with my peeps
That camaraderie is usually sodomy
For the beat
'Less my critics put a lens on them
So I could look through it
"Shut the fuck up" probably mean that
You too shook to do it
We'd see two pennies to your name
Yet you so saucy when I fix this game
You can thank me later for it no Aubrey
Switch my demeanor up, I'm off my 380 shit
My future's bright, stars is by my head
Baby shit
Make me sick, what you eat don't make me shit
Found out the reason they hate me is
My God-like presence must be atheist
While all of the frauds in
Rap is talking swag, put a fork in that
Slaughter's back listen, nigga
I got houses all across the map
Even got a Boston pad, got
This bitch from Boston, bad
Would put her in a wrestling move
But I heard she got that Boston Crab
Batteries in your back, go by what he say
Just need you to know that it's no leeway
And the tables'll turn go DJ
So you know what that blindfold's for
That bloodshed's a secret
Let's keep it behind closed doors
Who you said was dope again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you said was hot again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say could spit again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say was dope again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
I'm the present and the future
Like Christmas in 2012
I'm the present in the future
An executive producer
You will never get to choose your
Destiny 'cause you a pessimistic loser
Mess with me and I'll definitely shoot you
I'ma do's you like I'm repping the Yakuza
Die hard like I'm sexing
With Medusa do something, nigga!
Born thuggin', I don't fuck with the cops
Nuts hang down my pant leg
Balls tucked in my socks
I ain't gotta act tough to
Get a couple of props
Little nigga raised hisself
I don't know what's up with my pops
Do I think I'm the dopest in America? I do
Make you switch your whole style
Like you're dating Erykah Badu
Pair of Ferragamo shoes, I will stomp you
I'm fucked up, like the relationship between
Farrakhan and Jews
I'm spanking this instrumental
Like a wrinkly old bitch
I'm whipping the kick and snare
Make 'em pick they own switch
I'm smarter than computers that know how
To fix they own glitch
I'll leave you face down
Like chicks who lick they own tit's
And from this day forward
Crooked is aging backwards
Getting younger and fresher, putting bums
Under some pressure, yes, sir!
Watch the next Slaughterhouse album
Every line is white powder I
Ain't talking 'bout talcum
I am tighter than The Biggest
Losers cruisin' in a SmartCar
Distinguished alky, the flask on the armoire
I'm from the home of the
Most popular bomb weed most proper
Hoes rock with my partners who top-seed
Pour vodka
We gon' bottle-pop in the calm breeze
No copper can stop a COB star i'm a giant
Dumping my cigar ashes out on
Top of the palm trees
Chrome chopper: If I squeeze
You drop on the concrete
You wanna talk about the paper? Oh
Let's do it
Battered-pocket syndrome the money
We gon' abuse it
Still getting out-of-town paper so
Don't confuse it
Tell the Hip-Hop cops, "Nah, it's only music"
And haters steady eavesdroppin' on
The Bar Exam
Probably in your trunk now dependin'
On what car I ram
Who you said was dope again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you said was hot again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say could spit again?
Ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Who you say was dope again?
Ayy, ayy, it ain't nobody fuckin' with us
Nobody fuckin' with us
Flow tight I should probably
Ghostwrite for your idol
My pen game is godlike I
Could write for the Bible
I'm so good that after I rock it tonight
I'ma go "Sexual Chocolate!" and drop the mic
Don't even attempt to stop me, mention me
Top me my pencil is nice you should only
Mentally be dropping the dice
I'm a speech beast you best
To not approach me matter of fact, I think
I second that emotion, like a retweet
My stock going up like a Lamborghini door
I feel like Chuck Woolery in
The damn Bellini store
You playing yourself you remind
Me of the lotto you was good, and then
You turned hood you remind me of Moscato
I don't aim, I'm like Dick Cheney
The four spray and light your head up
Like Lo Pan when he gets angry
This ain't "Simon Says
" bitch this what Ryan says i hit the track
And it's a wrap like Aunt Jemima head
I'm beyond out of my mind
If you can imagine using Magic's
Johnson without a condom, i'm bonkers!
Yeah, got the streets going
"Dude is tremendous"
If I come for your blood
I ain't gon' be using syringes
I am raw there is a
Difference between I and y'all you opposed
You throwing fireballs at an iron wall
The sound of Alan Grunblatt signing
His name on the dotted
Line on that paper is your
Favorite rapper signing off
Ha, hahaha