Skillz - Murda Gram lyrics

Motherfuckers want to kill me but
Ain’t got the heart
So I picked the mic back up
For this walk in the park
And I don't want credit for this
This ain’t nothin’
I just answerin’ a nigga that
Kept pressin’ my buttons
Uncle Murda, what’s all the games about?
Nigga, keep my fucking name
Out your brown-ass mouth
Clark Kent, your man about to hold this L
So roll some weed I got a story to tell
Listen

Couple years ago I'm up in AC
I get a call from Clark Kent
And he don't ever call me
Talkin’ ‘bout he heard your
Version of my song he told you
You was bitin’ and you knew


That you was wrong
But not for nothing you was
Tryin to make it better
And trying to reach out to see
If we can do it together
I’m like, "Clark, nigga you must be faded
Why the fuck would I collab on some
Shit that I created? Y’all jaded
If you don't get the fuck off my phone
And tell that old faced-ass nigga
To leave me alone
Get gone clark, you know I ain’t that dude
And yeah I fell back on rap
But don't get it confused"
Shit lit my fuse, you wouldn't call Hov
And say 21 Savage want to do "22 Two’s"
Nigga, would you? The fuck wrong with y’all?
Bitin’ niggas
I could never get along with y’all
A song? Naw, straight curvin’ niggas
I wouldn’t even take a
Picture with Uncle Murda, nigga
And then you started makin’ ‘em
Takin’ your little shots
But, I ain’t never hear ‘em
They only play ‘em up top
You not worthy, you’re just dirty and thirsty
You make them every year
They never get past Jersey
Nigga stop it, you got Brooklyn lookin’ crazy
Matter-fact, you got Brooklyn lookin’ lazy
I got cases in Virginia, bodies in DC
You got to think BIG if you wanna come for me
And I’m still VA, and I’m still that nigga
Still M-A-D, where your skills at nigga?
I heard you got popped and
You ain’t peel that nigga
Whoever told you to change your name
You should kill that nigga
Lenny Grant, I can’t leave that alone
That shit read like it on the
Side of a funeral home ladies and gents
This nigga gettin’ washed and rinsed
Now if you a junior then
That name makes sense respect to your dad
That’s the least I can do
Actually, umm, naw, fuck him too
Now how a Stan going to come for the man?
Don't hide your hand
You wanted to be a wrap-up fan
I ain’t Tweetin’, I ain’t needin’ the ‘Gram
I’m Pusha T-ing, remindin’ these niggas
Who the fuck I am, damn
Reminding you on who the fuck you are
You a comedian, we don't come to you for bars
We straight, on top of that you fake
Nigga, you signed to G-Unit
Ten years too late and what I’m ‘bout to say
Might piss New York off
But, you one of the reasons
That New York soft
A worker who could never be a New York boss
Smack that dirty fitted off your head
New York lost
Nigga, dead-ass son, I’m not the one
I heard back in your past you
Used to bust your gun
I give a fuck, nigga, I don't care
Have a seat, here’s a chair
No love over here yeah, this the future
Now who the fuck get shot and make
A tape called respect the shooter, huh
You a adlibber but that’s all you do
I can name 20 Brooklyn rappers
More relevant than you
So stop fuckin’ with us, I go
With Kane, BIG and Jay, but that’s obvious
Buckshot, Tek and Steele, Rock and Ruck
Mos Def, Kweli, Masta Ace, Fabolous
Foxy, umm, Lil Kim and Cease
Skyzoo, Torae, oh Joell Ortiz
I’m a Joey BADA$$, ask AZ
MOP would have told you you
Shouldn’t fuck with me
You sendin’ DMs like a thirty chick
And got mad when I asked your dirty-ass
"Who this?"
And you can guntalk all day, that’s yours
But, you ain’t seein’ me
With these goddamn bars
You’ll never say you took me
Before that happens
Young MA will give you some pussy
Nigga, you kept pushin’ so I had to play
But this type of shit happens everyday
And when you see me, you know what I’ma say
I was spreadin' love, it’s the Virginia way
Nigga