Louder

You out there?

Louder

Ayo, check it out, yo, yo

Well, clap your hands to what he's doing

Ayo

You know I'm makin' sales on the hill, slingin' the fish scale

The motherfuckin' cracks and shit

In a ghetto state of mind

**** slingin' dime, doing three to nines

In the grind that I'm tryna flip

And change my ways, but not my techniques

Holdin' TECs when I walk, TECs when I talk, TECs when I sleep

If you don't keep heat sparkin', you a dead man walkin'

Prepare for war, ready to sleep, 'cause see, me

More ready to squeeze, you be more ready to breeze

And I'm real, and you just a stuntin' MC

When we say you know how we roll, we talkin' how deep

When we say you know what we hold, we talkin' 'bout heat

And we keep hundreds and guns 'cause talk is cheap

Hey holmes, you better run when you see me in the street

Try to diss me in your rhymes, I'ma warn you one time

Then out come them .9s, **** (Bow, bow)

You out there?

Louder

Louder

Well, clap your hands to what he's doing

You out there?

Louder

Louder

Yo, check it out, ayo, it's like

Well, clap your hands to what he's doing

I heard he s'posed to be known for bustin' his gun, him and his man

Out in South Jamaica BKA the desert land

Goin' at P, you finished, man

You's a flea, a peasant ass **** beneath me

Our shots connect with bodies, ask your chiefs

You better run to your boss about me

We kill **** like you and fuck the police

I built **** like you, you manufactured by me

Studied every Mobb song, every CD

Now you tryna grow up and squeeze your foot in my Louis?

My Ballys, my Timbs with the Gucci

My two-shot with the red beam shoot moolies

You **** goin' at me, get your teeth loose here

Your chain get popped and all you **** run from my bullets

A Mobb **** to the fullest, no bullshit

Catch **** havin' they fun and we ruin it

You out there?

Louder

Louder

Well, clap your hands to what he's doing

You out there?

Well, clap your hands to what he's doing

And when I'm spittin' that fire, I know it burns you up, ****

When they play your song, nobody turn you up, ****

Your rap style sucks and your style is chump, boy

Y'all **** ain't ready, you don't want it with Big Noyd

Homeboy, don't lie, you never handled no guns

Never sold no drugs, you was never no one

No scars, no bars, no pumpin', no buckin'

The frontin', homeboy, you never touched no one

You don't know what thuggin' is from the womb to the tomb

What you know about visits, ****, boofin' balloons?

Or on the street with the smack and the spoon

Slingin' dope from 12 mid to 12 noon in the streets with the goons

What you know about it, dunn? All my **** on the run

All my **** in the grave, and most up in the cage

And how they come home rockin' the specs with the waves

Or thuggin' with the Timbos rockin' the braids

You down, kid, this right here for all ages

Cop the mixtapes 'cause radio, they scared to play this

We too thug for them so we say, "Fuck the haters"

Then throw it up for my **** comin' with the gators

My ladies with the Chanel ridin' for the players

Believe me, man, nothing's gonna stop us from gettin' paper

It's a wrap for it, man, just adapt to it

We got it mastered, for every track, we write classics, ****