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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Freddie Gibbs
Vocals
Madlib
Beats
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Fredrick Tipton
Songwriter
Otis Jackson
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Madlib
Producer
Eothen Alapatt
Producer
Ben "Lambo" Lambert
Producer
Dave Cooley
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Re-re-ready to kick your ass out of the world
[Verse 2]
Uh, remember, everybody ain't loyal
You soft as gelatin, sick of tell them, **** show 'em
It's coca in the pot ****, drop it and let it boil
Goofy **** make me nervous, ain't serve 'em, if I ain't know 'em
Eastside, sleeping in my dope house clothes
Run down pair Jordan's and some dirty Girbaud's
Sucker coming with the short, he get extorted, exposed
****, stand on my own two balls, my dick and ten toes
Straight to the tippy top, hear this **** spitting it whether I got to hit or not
I hit it with the whip, they notice it when they hit the rock
I'm just a cocaina chemist
Cooking, chopping, and cutting, you'll die if I push a button
[Verse 3]
**** heard of me now, all of sudden they back to thuggin'
If I never sell a record, might catch me hot water juggin'
The DA want me gone, say I'm detriment to the public
Took his daughter, put this dick in her butt and say, "How you love it, bitch"
Remember, everybody ain't loyal
'Cause all the real **** in jail or deep in the soil
Dancing with the devil or eating a feast with the Lord
Gotta spit it how I live it, I beat the street and report, ****
Yeah, uh
'Cause all the real **** either in jail or deep in the soil, ****
[Verse 4]
Yeah, uh, that's real **** (Fo' sho')
Yeah, uh
Y'all got me fucked up in this bitch
[Verse 5]
Yeah, uh, the world ain't big enough for both of us (Nah)
Batter up, now you pussy **** getting fucked (Bitch)
Straight raw with infection passing, no prophylactic (Nah)
Eastside, anybody killa, my **** active
Smokin' and breakin' a 7 up in the 6 5 0 (Fo' sho')
Baby face gangster I've been slangin', bangin' since 9 4 (Fo' real ****)
I thought the world was at my feet when I linked up with Snow (Fo' real I did, tho)
But I refuse to be his flunky so we don't kick it no more (Hell nah, bitch)
Straight the the facts, ****, I looked up to you, put that on my mama (Uh)
Signed a deal with you and never asked you for a dollar
'Cause I was down with CTE, plus I was getting cheese (Yeah)
I played my fuck ass contract, what the lick read?
Thought I'd say this shit, cause you ain't man enough to come discuss it (You ain't, bitch)
You wanna be Jay-Z, ****, you just a fucking puppet
Gary boys ain't about talking so, bitch, I had to show you
Don't make me expose you to those who don't know you
[Verse 6]
Man, you said you the realest **** in this mother fucker, check it
But Ross said, you scared to drop a diss record (Yeah)
No nuts, got the whole team looking weak (Yeah)
This is why they ran up on you at the BETs (Haha)
LA red carpet, yeah, I was geeked (Sho')
Couldn't take security so we ain't take a seat (The fuck?)
I played the fool before, but yo, a ho I'll never be
They search the tour bus in Milwaukee, had that .44 with me
ESGN until the end, I feed the killers
Pray the Lord'll to take my breath 'fore I be like this monkey ****
Just a whole lotta rappin', with no mother fucking action
Seen Gucci by himself while we was 30 deep at Magic (You ain't do shit, ****)
And you didn't bust a grape
Was shook from the gate
(Uh) It make it seem to me the gangsta shit you kick be fake
[Verse 7]
'Cause all my enemies, I put them suckers in they place
So take them shades up off your eyes and look me in my fuckin' face
'Cause I'm a motherfuckin' rare breed
The last time you gonna see a bad guy like this again
Don't reproduce nothing but evil seeds
I'm rappin' and trappin' and still duckin' these F-E-D's (Uh)
But BMF was stickin' you for your fuckin' cheese (Whoa)
And yeah I know you sold the blow whipped the hard
But underneath the fuckin' money you's a fuckin' mark (Yeah)
Take heed to my statements because they might throw you (Bitch)
Don't make me expose you to those that don't know you
Bitch, Snowman killa, ****
[Verse 8]
Hey, man, hey, look- ah
This is just a warning, sucka
You shape up quick or we gon' get down
Who are you guys? What do you guys want, man?
I do the talkin', ****
Written by: Fredrick Jamel Tipton, Otis Jackson