Stenge-o-matic, Crooked I, Raekwon, Ghostface Killah - Yes Sir lyrics
[Stenge-o-matic, Crooked I, Raekwon, Ghostface Killah - Yes Sir lyrics]
No more rocks, Rubber Glocks homie
Move here all I hear, Call the cops on me
Ankle gold straight for my chucks
Chevy truck
Good CD, I rhyme to every nigga wit ill weed
We at the cheeba house toast'n
Rhymes we roast'n a hundred K
All they say is Rae and Ghost shitted
Mind frame puzzled
Bezzle cost one million franks
The Louie luggage bordered in Brussels
No he didn't, Harry Winston watch
My time's limit iCS, The G kitted, We fitted
Making my way all through the garden
Large nigga respect, Yep, The Chef up
He kept calling
Counter move'n with my shorty
We both lizard down
Her neck, My ring blizzard down
Get up in the South
Cooling with the hood goonies
The Mickey Rooney's of the Project when
Mad logic step in the room (Yes sir)
Where niggas rock mink coats and
Carry a mink tote
We got our bitches on mean boats (Yes Sir)
The money that come we spending it
Getting it don't give a fuck you get
Shot in the rented kid (Yes Sir)
Don't play with the Kings with blings on
(Yes Sir) no fake shit
Say the wrong thing and your team's gone
(Yes Sir) from killers and rap niggas
Who clap niggas up
What, yeah but, Go get your little gats nigga
Yo this ain't your average type boss shit
Steel pipes big enough to
Blow out your fausete
We car buying, Bar buying, Not to mention
My wall got flicks of me standing in
The back of a large lion
Shearling on, Shirt chill burning my man up
Style is back up in this like P and E sermon
So what yall wanna do these
Bars is French toast
Sin City style I'm like Marv
In the trench coat
Busting off arrows like Cupid
The truth is I got the mother load
From my girl and booked it
Went to my cell shitted out then pooped it
Sat broken down twenty dollars for two sticks
Uhh, I'm a hustler, Yall my customers
Broke niggas just wanna smoke
Like a muffler homie
It's Crooked I and the Chef, and of course me
Michael Phelps of this shit
Who wanna endorse me
If it's war I'm reaching for the heat
I got bullets the size prehistoric teeth
That'll bite you like the heater or the beef
So I feed it more to eat
To lead a boy your sleep
Leave em leaking on the street
Then I'm creeping low, Discreet
I'm the reason for police when
I'm squeezing on my piece
Like I be squeezing on your piece
When she drinking on my skeet
She move when a gangsta say so
She wanna pop skittles
Wanna taste the rainbow you never know
Crooked could be poke'n your Mom
In while smoke'n a bong, The ultimate Don
Closed mouth don't get feed
I'm quoting you Psalms
Closed fists don't get bread
So open your palms
Yeah, How can you not feel that
I'm on Rodeo with the top
Peeled back yelling COB
I took a vow of abstinence
For ya sucker emcees
Which mean I swear to God none
Of yall fucking with me, uhh
Move here all I hear, Call the cops on me
Ankle gold straight for my chucks
Chevy truck
Good CD, I rhyme to every nigga wit ill weed
We at the cheeba house toast'n
Rhymes we roast'n a hundred K
All they say is Rae and Ghost shitted
Mind frame puzzled
Bezzle cost one million franks
The Louie luggage bordered in Brussels
No he didn't, Harry Winston watch
My time's limit iCS, The G kitted, We fitted
Making my way all through the garden
Large nigga respect, Yep, The Chef up
He kept calling
Counter move'n with my shorty
We both lizard down
Her neck, My ring blizzard down
Get up in the South
Cooling with the hood goonies
The Mickey Rooney's of the Project when
Mad logic step in the room (Yes sir)
Where niggas rock mink coats and
Carry a mink tote
We got our bitches on mean boats (Yes Sir)
The money that come we spending it
Getting it don't give a fuck you get
Shot in the rented kid (Yes Sir)
Don't play with the Kings with blings on
(Yes Sir) no fake shit
Say the wrong thing and your team's gone
(Yes Sir) from killers and rap niggas
Who clap niggas up
What, yeah but, Go get your little gats nigga
Yo this ain't your average type boss shit
Steel pipes big enough to
Blow out your fausete
We car buying, Bar buying, Not to mention
My wall got flicks of me standing in
The back of a large lion
Shearling on, Shirt chill burning my man up
Style is back up in this like P and E sermon
So what yall wanna do these
Bars is French toast
Sin City style I'm like Marv
In the trench coat
Busting off arrows like Cupid
The truth is I got the mother load
From my girl and booked it
Went to my cell shitted out then pooped it
Sat broken down twenty dollars for two sticks
Uhh, I'm a hustler, Yall my customers
Broke niggas just wanna smoke
Like a muffler homie
It's Crooked I and the Chef, and of course me
Michael Phelps of this shit
Who wanna endorse me
If it's war I'm reaching for the heat
I got bullets the size prehistoric teeth
That'll bite you like the heater or the beef
So I feed it more to eat
To lead a boy your sleep
Leave em leaking on the street
Then I'm creeping low, Discreet
I'm the reason for police when
I'm squeezing on my piece
Like I be squeezing on your piece
When she drinking on my skeet
She move when a gangsta say so
She wanna pop skittles
Wanna taste the rainbow you never know
Crooked could be poke'n your Mom
In while smoke'n a bong, The ultimate Don
Closed mouth don't get feed
I'm quoting you Psalms
Closed fists don't get bread
So open your palms
Yeah, How can you not feel that
I'm on Rodeo with the top
Peeled back yelling COB
I took a vow of abstinence
For ya sucker emcees
Which mean I swear to God none
Of yall fucking with me, uhh