The Diplomats - The Best Out lyrics

Ayo, I stopped paying for coke
Get bricks on the muscle
Gorillas on they bullshit
Welcome to the jungle
Fiends get served in the hallway
Welcome to the hustle
Where bitches do anything for a
Hit of that glass dick when I'm outta town
Nothing less than a half brick
One-sixty on the dash
Nothing less than a fast whip
I floss when it's sunny
Got money for a rainy day
In the dope spot a few blocks
From where the Yankees play
Man, I'm heavy in that BX borough
And we ain't gotta front for nobody
We just thorough
And I'm sitting on an arsenal
Rockets and the missiles
Took my advance and got my
Strip popping with them nickels
And when I'm in ya neighborhood
You gotta go high deliver bullets to ya door
Like I'm domino pies, nigga
Say hello to my little friend like Scarface
I pull that fucking rifle
Right out the guitar

Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out
Jones the kufi smacker
He bringing them techs out
Sporty-style, 40 Cal
He bringing Corvettes out bezel the Beast
But I still show you what fresh 'bout
You know who shaving the grams
Forty K on the hand
Killa, nigga, what more can I say about Cam?
JR the Writer of writers
And Santana back like cooked crack
He even supplying suppliers

The type that I'm tighter
Tight cause I'm Writer
Write cause I'm nicer, site for the lifers
Knives in the cipher, Writer's a viper
Listen this is butter
Even Ringling Brothers see I got
The eye of the tiger before I met Killa Cam
I was dealing killa grams
I mean killer grams, throws a tan, fill a pan
Recorded in the hole
Where you couldn't chill or stand no booth
Microphone hanging off the ceiling fan
Mass million fan sitting in
The Beverly Hilton
Watch how I heavy kills him, Bessey, Chevy
Desi fill 'em
But, I still ain't break a sweat, yes
I'm chilling veet bomb, seat wrong
Tito gonna bet the building
I been grind to lean, sniff lines for fiends
Grams chopped, tan rock, I pitch lima beans
Piff grind was mean, had 'em dumb stuck
So when I say uncut
I don't mean behind the scenes

Yo, I'm a NY G like Jeremy Shockey
Come through
Drop my coupe like I meant to be sloppy
I got DJ's kicking karate
Cause they throw my wax on and
Take your wax off like MrMiyagi
Pimping, I'm cocky
I slap your broad on the cheek
And send her home barefooted
You massaging her feet
You probably go down on a freak
You're hardly a meat
But we ain't mad cause you proving
You are what you eat your squadron is weak
Speak and get a broken something
We the plate in ya grill like a toaster oven
Fuck it they even got dojas frontin
Shaking your cola
Only time your coke was bubbling, cousin
Cal get weight with no problemo
Ride around ya block selling
Out the car window
And ya moms been know, that I chop rocks
That make your father cop like Carl Winslow