Рет қаралды 2,406
𝗟𝗬𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗦 𝗜𝗡 𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗣𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡
0:00 Fabolous Freestyle
0:55 Lloyd Banks Freestyle
3:02 Cassidy Freestyle
[𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲 𝟭: 𝗙𝗮𝗯𝗼𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀]
Now I hardly be parkin' in the P's
'Cause the system in the SL make it shake like it got Parkinson's Disease
'Bout to go back to mark it in the trees
Watchin' out for narcs in the fatigues and them markings on the cees
Catch me wit' a bitch in Gucci Parkas and Capris
Wit' a set of full lips and bruise markings on her knees
Ya'll 'gon run to the precinct, start talkin' when I squeeze
So I put snipers on the roof, marksmen in the trees
Fuck you, I like who write ya shit
Wit' voice command, me and my car talk like Michael Knight and KITT
Ever since they put my face on the screen
Fuck a box and a dash, I stack my guns in the waist of my jeans
Niggas start nonsense again
He thinkin' its sweet, get shots like you on Insulin
When I pull off the dealers' lots, no mileage is on it
This bad boy move wit' guns wit' silencers on it
[𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲 𝟮: 𝗟𝗹𝗼𝘆𝗱 𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀]
I got a industry gangstress that argues and steams the reefer
And flip when I call her bitch, like she Queen Latifah
Now all the vehicles is long enough to stash the street sweeper
This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker
We slidin' through the Rucker, with Prada on the chuckas
So the spring break hoes home from college wanna fuck us
I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas
I sic Rottweilers on you fuckas, cops followin' to cuff us
Top dollas to discuss this, whole lot of zeros
When it comes to paper, I blow a soul out a hero
I'ma break before I lay in the floor buried, besides
Every rapper ain't a star, and every plaid ain't Burberry
You can't tame Lloyd, we're smokin' by the big screen
Changin' the channel, looks like I'm playin' the Game Boy
I know the watch botherin' ya vision
But reach, and I'll put a dot on ya head like it's part of your religion
Why party wit' a pigeon? I'm blowin' a 10
'Cause Bush handin' out flyers for a party in the prison
I'm in the Gucci vest, with the green and red straps
I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack
Now every morning's a fast start
But it ain't A problem gettin' dressed 'cause my closet got more aisles than Pathmark
Run when we startin' a raid
Or leave wit' 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs
I'm a young pimp, pardon my age
I don't got long hair but if I did she'd be partin' my braids
We just find out what club they at, take 'em wit' us
And run a train on 'em like a subway map
Your advance is a grey Acura
See these record labels got most artists gettin' fucked like the gay rapper
I go to college on the tour
I'm goin' down in history nigga, next to Wallace and Shakur
Keep ya ammo clean, TECs polished in the drawer
Cameras by the hampers that monitor the floor
By now, you probably heard of me, fresh outta surgery
Flashy as a fuck, you gon' have to murder me
Burglary, I'm leavin' with your Nikes burgundy
White tee burgundy, you match now, back down
Niggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear
Catch me on a boat wit' weed smoke and fishin' gear
Heavy when I tote, C-notes from different years
Bezzy and the rope, remotes and liftin' chairs
You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya
I send cars to your crib like I'm a cab dispatcher
You better off with the stupid guys, lookin' for a coupe to drive
You ain't gettin nuttin' but ya french fries supersized
It's a damn shame y'all still local
I'm in a million dollar studio layin my vocals, nigga
[𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲 𝟯: 𝗖𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗱𝘆]
I been in this game for years
And I made change in it
On the real, since BIG died ain't shit change in it
So far, I got a lil' jewelry, more cars
But I got hard metaphors every four bars
Give me four more months and watch what happen
I'ma have the game hot like when Pac was rappin'
I'm a problem, first album goin' cuatro platinum
In this Benz is the rims and the privates packet
I might cop a lil' chain wit' the time to match it
Y'all hear the track, write a buncha lies then rap it
When you shy wit' ya gat, petrified to clap it
I'll pull it and put bullets inside ya jacket
You can't hide you a faggot wit' nut on ya mustache
Put a condom on the nine and fuck you in the ass
Y'all ain't fuckin' wit' Cass, I'm outta my head
And through ya butt, I'll blow ya guts outta ya ribs
You could get stuck up if ya watch got ice
You could go bankrupt if ya rocks not white
If ya shot not nice you might miss me
Man, I'm a serial killa, I pop like Rice Krispies
Y'all write like sissies, all glamour and glitz
I do dirt like janitors wit' hammers and clips
Don't abandon ya whip and park it on the block
I steal cars and throw my own auctions on the block
Who talkin' to the cops? A buncha you doin' it
The corner so hot I don't even feel comfortable on it
5-O passin' by when Cass get high
I be in a different world like Jasmine Guy
If you askin' to die, I'm the person to see
You clowns sound like watered down versions of me!