U-God, Prodigal Sunn, C-Rayz Walz, Sean Price - Still Grimey lyrics

Yo, rated x
Smack you off the stage when I'm vexed
No sweat, I crack a cold case of Beck's
Guess whose back
The jack of all trades is next
The rap cuisine, I crack a raw egg and flex
I cave in your chest
This one came from the 'jects
Yeah, the cause and effect
Make innocent blood pour
The streets is like the rap game
A daily tug of war
For rich or for poor, or death do us part
Niggas come for test

Still grimey (grimey, grimey)
Still slimey (slimey, slimey)
Don't try me (try me, try me)
It's been ten long years, you can't untie me

Bring fire and Ruck let the heat pour
Niggas like Ruck 'Fuck you rhyming
To this beat for?'
Listen, life is like a muthafuckin' seesaw
One minute you're hot, the next
Yo Where's Rock?
None of your biz, fuck around
And run in your crib
Wife like 'He ain't here'
Throw some to your wiz
Niggas running up on me
Til the tre' pound click
Talking 'bout 'Ruck
Let's battle' on some 8 Mile shit
I'm like nigga, my name ain't B rabbit
It's Sean Price
Big Ruckus from busting these ratchets
Call me gay basher
For fucking up these faggots
Ya'll niggas ain't nothing, stop fronting
Stay passive
Yo, pass the dutch, on the left hand side
Sean gone til November, stole Wyclef's ride
Bob Backlund, car jacking, New Jersey driving
Ya'll niggas ain't think about rapping
Til you hear me rhyming, oh

I keeps it real in the field
Navy feel on the drill
Never stingy with my bills
Plenty gravy I spilled
Recorded in the history of rap
Two inch reels
Seven to ten mills, eleven to twenty hills
Rest in peace to my brother Half-A-Mil
Unnecessary blood spilt, another thug killed
Move with the mass appeal, the blast still
For the Cash Money Click
No Limit's and no thrills
Mad cuz your ho, feeling P sunzini, give you
As sweet as a kiwi, face it, you not me
Nigga ladi dadi, the Gods like to party
We don't cause trouble
But we can make you a body
Ladi dadi, the Sunn likes to party
I don't cause trouble
But I will make you a body
Flowin' high in the Mazarati
Two with my ninjas beside me
Lively, floating on some Ducatti's
With two gellati's, two hotties
We never sloppy
Jewelry rocky, Spanish pieces
They call me papi
Clear fire Bacardi, sobered up like Gotti
Rest in peace to my dog, Shotti, Shotti

On the corner ready to bo', holding my nuts
Standing by my building looking at
Myself in the truck
My reflections (still grimey)
Oscar the Grouch's worms (still slimey)
I got a jones for Miss Piggy's ham hiney
I can be a bum in the slums, and slam shiny
On every corner, I'm grams, you can find me
The boss of the burners
I fire shots if your nine speak
This is true Manchu, and who you, fams too?
Better have they face in the game
Like the Blue Man Group
I heard you smell me, I make it funky
Rock hard and kick ass like
I hate you donkeys
My oatmeal lumpy like Johnson's Bumpy
Harlem humpty
Hungry wolves, pain's hummer, harbor hungry
Dumpty, blazing trees
Now leave an OE present
Know why the hood feel me
Like police presence