Beanie Sigel, Freeway, Wale, Young Chris - CYPHR lyrics

Yeah! Gunna! Get 'em!

Well it’s the C from the R-O
The Polo a cargo
The Murcielago, garage a car show
The ‘matic is auto, suit ‘em up, hard-toe
Hard-toe, get that to the wire like Marlo

And so the wrist stay on glisten
The beats keep on ripping
Touch me? Dream on
Or y’all keep on schiz'ing
It’s the king of the flow-switching
I do it best smif-N Wes
Right under the rest where the arm go

It’s Mr need-an-Encore, J11 Concord
You niggas is John Q
You don’t have the heart for it
Catch me out in Largo
Showin’ off my hard work
Count so much bread
Swear to God that my arm hurt

Give ‘em the LV
Fresh pair of lens and a nice belt
I be in the women, swimming like Mike Phelps
Young black distributor
Did it with the white help
Little bit of green, too
Satisfy the fiends too

Me too! I’m saying
Bringing the banger right here
I been Hip-Hop gaming
Dropping bangers all year
Freezer, bang that thang and
End your singing career
Hoes like it, fly private
Do my thing in the air

Well, am I making it clear
Or did I st-st-stutter?
Globetrotting is nothing
I’m living out of my luggage
A neighborhood superstar
Don’t even hit the public
Discovery Channel tape us and swear
The hood is a jungle

Motherfuck 'em
They feed the R&B and let the rest starve
Had to leave my old team like Brett Favre
Condensate, you fucking hater
Let the mag off then watch ‘em turn to
Commentators like Bradshaw

Rock stages, snatch wages
You can hate me or love me
MTV-Unplug me and put me up with the greatest
Lil’ sweats, Louie specs
I put you up on the latest
‘Cause, I made it
Graduated to the Benz from the buggy

And we the freshest, they love, it
We the subject of discussion
We can get it popping
Brother, out in public, we ain’t running
I ain’t playing, I ain’t
Caring at all, Philly, we ready for war
We bring it to ‘em, they Usain Bolt, gone

If I don’t come up, the sun won't
Def might Jam but my gun don’t
I keep the 40 Glock with me
I’ll give the jockey on your
‘Lo shirt a wiggy
You can keep the coke, papi
But the dough coming with me
I’m all about the Benjamins, baby
Pockets Puffy
Big Poppa of the Property, you got to love me
Popped off if it’s problems
We can do this publicly or in private
However do you want it, B
No problems do you want with me
I put your body in that box so comfortably
Church lay a nigga six feet beneath earth
While the preacher search the
Bible for a verse, rest in peace!
State Prop, get your wig popped
I’m on my job in the hood
Like Young Bob giving headshots
King of Philly
There’s none before me and none to come
I got it locked like the wig on Stunna’s son