[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]
Live like 9-5, I rhyme and come alive,
My grind divides fine through my divine eyes,
It’s prime time, you wish you could buy time, but it’s my time,
Thoughts against I, blasphemy, it’s like a vice crime.
I roll ’em thick and I ignite mines,
I don’t even get high, I just get equally back in my right mind,
I’m gettin’ lethal with these nice lines,
Creepin’ through your speakers,
Catch you sleeping like a thief of in the nighttime.
Young Doms, none of you niggas correspond, bitch,
Kick the fuck outta the track on some Jean-Claude shit,
Get the fuck outta the streets, nigga, I bomb shit,
Shit ain’t all good no more, y’all on your con shit.
The fuck is your conscience? Testing me is nonsense,
The whole city is mine, I’m the best up in my conference,
Ain’t feelin’ me, fine, ain’t gotta listen to my shit,
You can hear about me from the critics all on my dick.
[Verse 2: Freddie Gibbs]
Bitch, I’ve been thuggin’ since the mothafuckin’ ten-speed,
Redbone on my handlebars, I like my bitches mixed-breed,
Fill a Philly Titan with a 20 sack of stress weed,
Educated, at the stove I’m workin’ recipes.
Reputation say I’m robbin’ just for recreation,
Revive my enemy with gun-to-mouth resuscitation,
Can’t wait till this the pussy nigga pay me, I’m impatient,
Let’s go kick in their door and strip them naked, leave ’em stinkin’,
No witness, no weapon, my nigga, the case is over,
The reaper snatched him, closed casket, his family need some closure.
And Moses had ten commandments, Huey had ten points,
Won’t see my homie for ten, dropped him off at the joint,
Starin’ at my future in my rearview,
Family cried some tears, I got some years, it ain’t no issue,
Mama, where the tissue?
Saw her breakin’ down, she just might cry a river,
Murder one, she can’t believe she raised that type of nigga.
[Verse 3: G-Wiz]
I tried to do right, but it only got your boy fucked in the game,
So I changed my mind, now I’m back on this grind
Tryna get this change.
Niggas hate to see me gettin’ it,
Travellin’ packs with a red dot
Pointed at your knot, tryna get what you got.
When the rain and the pain gon’ stop?
Standin’ on the porch early, no shoes, sellin’ blow in my socks,
And I was watchin’ for the ghetto bird,
Ain’t got no money for college
So all I know is how to sack and how to serve.
I be damned if I miss another lick for the chips,
Got me stackin’, almost splurgin’ on weed, syrup and whips,
Niggas around my way be lovin’ it,
I’m Cadillacin’, blowin’ good alligators with the belts to match,
I got an ounce with an ounce to match, bust it down, get back,
Hopefully maybe get the clique out the trap.
I need dough like a bread baker,24/7, got ready on the turf, player,
[Verse 4: Casey Veggies]
Make ’em hop in the new coupe,
Niggas been winnin’, that ain’t nothing new,
Forgive me for the sinning that they be doin’ in this business,
Not using their words to express truth.
Out in the streets with a screw loose,
On the Westside I got the juice,
Just tell me what you tryna do,
She lovin’ the crew and ain’t fuckin’ with you.
I go where the hood niggas get into it,
I go where the bad girls go shop,
Every window tinted but the rooftop,
That money, I’ll just spend it to get you shot.
Can they be hatin’? They got no reason,
Right where they got me, the place I delete ’em,
We kickin’ on weaklings just for all of their secrets,
I can’t believe the shit that I’m seein’.
I’m hearin’ the words, doing my reading, it’s really absurd,
Not enough leaders, the shit that they feed you, it’s just what you eatin’,
They call me young Veggies, I make it go green.
I smash in all your teeth. The fuck is you sayin’?
You got the candies, the niggas is sprayin’,
To get away and take over the land, yeah!
[Verse 5: Sulaiman]
My mind on capital, I’m not just rappin’ dude,
I’m out to speak actual factual, watch how a master moves.
You ball a fist, what that gon’ do?
I’m from a city clappin’ fools,
You off the tit lackin’ while watchin’ me fashion stools;
Shittin’ styles. You never had a hot line that I didn’t dial,
Little princes always tryna fit a bigger crown,
But don’t forget I sit amidst some seasoned gents,
Them bitches knowin’ he a pimp, ain’t even need to read the blimp.
It was a good day, good day to O’Shea,
A death certificate for anyone who lay in my way,
You best revisit all the tombstones that lay in my wake,
Me being knowledge, be honest.
You seen the prophet get sacrificed by the opps,
It get ratchet when ratchets out and they firin’,
Residue on piñatas, wonder what’s up inside of ’em,
It’s sure ain’t no Vicodin ‘cause it up and excited ’em,
But they ain’t get high enough, if you ain’t succeed, nigga,
Buy again and try again.
[Verse 6: Meechy Darko]
It’s the irrational type of nigga to John Madden tackle you,
Steal your car keys and crash your coupe in the botanical,
Wrap you with shackles, tangle you, pull from every angle, dismantle you,
Watch your blood mixed with mud and stain the gravel, too.
Grab and shoot, ribcage open like a parachute,
Close range, switchblade, poke ’em if it’s personal,
Blood stains, gold fangs, mask on, no trace,
Murder one, closed case, stolen whip, no plates.
Half a body in the trunk, go to prison, no way,
Speed off the Brooklyn Bridge before I catch a cold case,
Realize I’m the voice for those who do not have a voice,
So I voice my fuckin’ voice, I don’t have a fuckin’ choice.
Cold blooded, leave some niggas, well, I hope you got insurance,
Shotgun and shorty, lift ’em like the potent in my joint,
Barrels smokin’ like Red Auerbach,
Still can’t believe I’m getting’ fed on rap,
I don’t know what’s louder, the pack or the gat?
[Verse 7: Mac Miller]
My endorphins are morphin’, absorbin’ energy,
Original copy, A Tale of Two Cities gets read to me,
Readin’ Emerson novels, eatin’ some Belgian waffles,
Some powder go up my nostrils, my dick goin’ down her tonsils,
What’s up? Play with an abacus, I’ve been stressin’ like Catholics,
That’s the shit, a bit of that happiness in my cup,
This generation corrupt, these people brainwashed with evil,
My music is more cerebral, explorin’ just what you need to.
So this your Exodus, Church of the Methodist,
Beatin’ up the pussy, have her screamin’ like a exorcist.
Absorb it through your pores, the Lord with horns, a world war,
Whores are more hors d’oeuvres when it’s a world tour.
Исполнитель: Freddie Gibbs