Old Thing Back Pt. 2

[Juelz Santana:]
Don Q, where you at?
What it do, these rap niggas is wack
I want that old thing back
Yeah, I want that old thing back

[Don Q:]
You now see, my style mean, I ain't into you
Seeing murders, fucked up my child's dreams
Got caught sleeping, nigga, I ain't on a Xanny
Crack come in, like candy
Cold in New York, got Miami on the bench
Brandy, and her best friend, Tammy, tryna get me
Run through that money, treat that shit like a marathon
Quit it with the happy talk, treat my luggage like a cary-on
Hit the club with my carots on, make these hoes wanna come along
You ain't gotta act, it's real if I have it on
You be shitten on them with that X53, we had it in the streets, pull up with this Keef
I switch a check on the piece, nigga, I never sleep
30,000 for the Lui, never take a receipt
I'm a real broncks nigga, west side to be exact
We ain't at the party, bring the party to where we at
Imma pull up to the scene, in the rari, with the strap
Smoken in the car, with a barby in the back
No shit, before rap, it was sell chips
On that road shit, til a nigga homesick
Remember back, I was in the trap, with the stove lit
Sellin crack to a feend, so I could get my shit

Santana, get back to the bandana
These rap niggas is wack
I want that old thing back
I want that old thing back
I want that old thing back

[Juelz Santana:]
Santana, bandana, back on tl
Too much sauce, too much swagger, might spill
Too much talk, the hawk, the mac might drill
Big white bens, looking like crack on weals
All this ice on, I got chills
All these things got me flexin on them, now I know how PopPop feels
Getting to the chicken, like a Popeyes meal
Connected everywhere, like I got a wifi deal
Gotta watch them niggas that's close to you
They the same ones riding in the Ghost with you
Hating on the low, htinking about ghosting you
Same ones that smoke with you, choke with you
Boy, I came to bring the pain, put niggas to shame
The whole planet gonna remember my name
It's all for respect, not fame
Don't play with me, give them rope, they still can't hang with me
Pass the baton, they still can't race with me
So far ahead of these niggas, they still chacing me
I wouldn't be surprised if niggas ghost writers got ghost writers, nothing seeses to amaze me
Ladies used to care, even though they was raping me
Now it's 360 deals, modern day slavery
Fuck you paying me, I'm the one recording
Won't settle for extortion, or fame over forchin
Game done changed, sound done changed
All these niggas sound the same, the word loyalty don't even sound the same
Good thing that when I keep the pound, it bang, and it always sound the same
Time to ame at the game, pure shower, mane
Neck full of water, lke I drowned my chain
Flyer than a nigga jumping out a plain
Higher than you niggas, you can't find the strain
Better than you niggas, that's without saying
The money like the work, we don't count, we weigh
Cause now we aming, blazing, flaming
Gun big as a showerhead, you don't want me spraying
Enough with the mumbo jumbo, Santana back though, can I get a drum roll
Whole lot of cush, and it's stuffed in the front hole
Feends still say my work tastes like Gumbo
Yeah, bring that old thing back
I was tought to wip it up, and bring that whole thing back
When I was pumping coke, you was jumping rope
I was running out of bags, you was playing tag
While you was hop scotching, I was drop shopping
At the dealer, paying cash for them pink tags
While you was pop locking, I was gloc popping
Getting to the cash, brown paper bags
Blowing money fast, it'd never last
Make it fast, then make it back
Haters gonna suffer, I'm ok with that
All this garbage, time to throgh away the trash