Shyheim - No Cups lyrics

Lil' Jon, take back your cup, son
I'mma smack fire outta one of these niggas
Runnin' around with cups and shit
With they names on it
Got fuckin' strips man, listen
It's the kid, nigga, Shyheim, nigga, what?
Uh, huh, they fucked up and let me out
This Bottom Up, Brock Bros, King Just
Shaolin

You don't get a cup for
That sucker shit you doing
I can tell you never had real
Drama from the way you moving
You easy access
Dress up like I work for FedEx
Deliver a bomb in a box to your address
Now you know you ain't ordered shit
You still gonna open it
Always lookin' for the come up, see
What ya greedy ass hit?
Pine casket and some flowers
And your bitch will be fuckin'
One of my Bottom Up niggas
Give and take a couple hours june Lov'
With this criminal mentality of ours
To eat, shit, shave
And shower with the culture power
You don't get a cup
Cuz I said you don't get a cup
You not a gang banger
Throwin' your record company sign up
How come nobody on your team, had a gun
When ya man got bodied
Y'all just standin' there, feelin' stupid
Lookin' down at his body
And if dead niggas could talk, I
Bet he said, y'all pussy, probably

You don't get a cup
For them hub cap spinners
You don't get a cup
Cuz you don't fuck with the winners
You don't get a cup
Cuz you ain't down with Shaolin
You don't get a cup
Cuz y'all niggas don't be wildin'
You don't get a cup
Cuz you ain't from the grain
And you don't get a cup
Cuz niggas snatched your chain
You don't get a cup, cuz you runnin' from me
And you don't get a cup
Cuz I'm the hottest in the street

How the fuck Nick Cannon get a cup?
When Nickelodeon kids, don't even get drink
Your names written in rhinestone
Not diamonds this is for my comrades
With their green cups
Starin' mud up on the Island, gettin' counted
Dogs in the pound, growlin'
Hear the moans of the forgotten
Mouth all dry, like we suckin' on cotton
We thristy, so y'all better pray for mercy
The state of mind, hip hop's in right now
Hurts me
Disgust me, everybody's thugs, gangstas
And p-i-m-ps we all irregular people, peace

2000 box, New York 'ocks, a box of tops
Be in SAQ so long, they call me sock
Who got the drop homey? I got the drop
Runnin' up in the spot, with my 40 cal' Glock
The money
Jewels and your cup is what I came for
Then I'm lookin' at the front door
Like Main Source
Slidin' off in the 0-4, gray porsche
I crucified the game
Put the scale on the porch
In memory of my mans, that died for grams
Catch shots, dusted out
With the Wally Champs
Screamin' 'fuck everybody'
Lickin' shots like stance


Listen, man, there's 2 type of people, man
Trend setters and those who follow trends
Man, life is not a gimmick, man
Life is a privalege, see
Y'all runnin' around here, frontin' man
Like we won't take your life, B
I'm serious, man, and go sit up in a box
With some child shit, and blow
Some holes and do pushups, nigga
Make ya chest big, nigga
Beat our dick offa something
The black tails
Or the butt mans or something
Keepin' it gangsta man, Bottom Up, Brock Bros
2-0-0-4, to infinity, nigga, remember that
It's the God, you know?