112 Bars

(альбом: Gudda Muzik - 2009)

Yeah niggaz!
Who the fuck you thought it was?
It's ya nigga Jay muthafuckin Rock, top dog!
Before I get started, let me get a rest in peace to my nigga Pac
Gotta go in on this one
Yeah, let's go

Give me my money and stacks and lace my swishas with kush, nigga
Hard liquir fuck up my liver, guaranteed I pick up
The west coast like the phone is ringing, hello,
Anybody on this phone this evening? Guess not
Jay Rock, out the bottom of Watts,
Gangsta, ain't shit pop but the water in pots
We cookin the crack, distributing to the block
Getting it back, I use the same formula for rap
I'm warning ya, leaving more dead bodies for the coroner
Shootin any witness with a cornia
As far as rap, I'm best the rapper out of California
Warrior, in the 300 like a sparley,
Gladiator, blast a hater, put em in a coffin
For coughing, that thera-flu won't do
Gonna need more if you don't wanna see the lord
Tell me what ya living for like 2 times 2
I'm a sureshot like marksmen, you all dead
Cold red, money clippers if a nigga fold bread
That will feed four people for the next four years
I ain't just got ends, I end cold reds [?]
Cosigned by the allmighty pac when I drop science
Like? I'm not lying
Put a scar on your face like cymbels uncle
Dumb fuck, I was built to tussle
Gangbang, murder state, west side of the mississippi
Where you can die like a shirt from an old hippie
Peep the irony, the heater on me when it's nippy
Hit a nigga on Q like I'm from the fifties
Roll through the sixties just to fuck withNnippsey
Hussle to the death like interpreters I'm hurting ya
I could close curtain ya, but I'll let you bleed
I'm a top dog, nigga, like?
Got the game on lock, well I'm still in the ki's
Don't get it twisted, honey, I'm still with the bees
Like sean carter on the yacht, what you got, nothing, nigga
Give it up, circle round the block (BUCK-BUCK a nigga)
What the fuck, this is hip-hop to the third degree
Murder emcees, send 'em up, throw 'em in a burboun truck
Throw some gasoline on 'em, light a match, burn em' up
I don't think you heard enough, fuck it, let me turn it up
Grab ya bitch, turn her out, sell her for a couple buds
Put her on a stroll, bet she'll bring back a armored truck
Tell her I'm a city nigga, gritty nigga, grimy nigga
Even when you eyes closed, guaranteed you'll find me
In the Watts with a backroad, the hood made my heart cold
Put me in a loophole, now the nigga do shows
Kick flows like I knew martial arts
Raving at Peter Parker once a nigga climb the charts
All my real niggas follow, I don't fuck with pussy niggas
Fuck with real bloods, real crips, who you fooling, nigga?
Jay Rock, jack the ripper, rep for every ghetto
I'm a still be here even when the smoke settle on a sunset
Rolling down sunset, hand on the wheel
Middle finger to the cops, give a fuck how they feel
I'm a ride like a freighttrain on ya rap-lames
Screaming? got the projects on my back, mane
You ain't gotta aks mane, Jay Rock got it
Top Dog, aka they got dollas
Big like Chris Wallace, fly like weed parlors
Sig on my lap, we'll pop your collar
From the land where the coolest cat will drop your mama
Mouthpiece like barack obama, but still street
Stilll creep through your set, I'm a thug I guess
Cold stares for the clothes I dress, I'm well aware of that
Niggas be hating, soon as they jump like a car cable
Homie gon' be disabled, screaming for help
Trying to kill me? Better of killing yourself, because
Suicide, it's a suicide
The way I was raised, either do or die
You can die any given time, it's not promised
Hop out, spray lamas, come back with the bic mac
Hassle McDonalds on our house, what you 'bout?
Big money?, for cheap talk
Bumping your gums, you'll get your teeth lost
Play me for dumb, we bust guns, leave ya street-chalked
Do this for fun, we hit ya block, let the piece bump
Like pitbulls, get shookup when the flow cook up
Tell 'em I got the hookup like candyman on your steps
I command respect like a law permitted to y'all
Y'all never come brawl with the west coast general
Criminal background, tell mama her son rap now
No more hustling rocks up in that crackhouse
All I do is bring it to you, pay per view
Food for thought, brought wordplay, what you brought
I brought the big boys with me, my project people
Call me Bishop Lamont, stand on top of the church steeple
Writing raps 'til my hands collapse
Staring at the world from a different view like my Crooked I do
Hold my beach cruiser as I ride by you
With my Glasses on, shout out to Malone
Out-of-towners want to trip, then I'm ready to rob 'em
See I got that K boy, who wanna pile 'em
And that K got a Dot, if I let a shot go
Hit you in your Ab, and there go your Soul
On my misson ready to roll, let's do this to a living
But Jay said that's a felony cause niggas keep on telling
If a coward snitch on me, then this what I'll do
Pull the rocket out and let it bang loose
Then give his mama the blues, like SBI
Got hot dollars now, so the FBI
All inside of my ride, that's the Cadillac Fleetwood
If the west blow, shit, you know that the east would
I'm coastal with it, look, me and Mistah Fab
Doing fabolous digits, it's a family business
In the field with that, then you get stuck up
Give it to you every day, seven years of bad luck
Who got the gin and the juice, toss it up for my name
I don't know how many bars, but this not a game