Crowns For Kings
(专辑: The Plugs I Met - 2019)
[Benny the
Butcher:] Uh, every king will be crowned Trust me Uh This marathon shit, so let's see who first to the
finish If it's less than a
hundred racks, it don't deserve your attention 'Cause burdens come with it, my second test was serving a
sentence My first was make a
brick jump like it was hurdling fences Certainly, my last shit was a
courtesy, nigga And further, we had bustdowns before you heard of me, nigga Shoeboxes stacked with racks sitting vertically in 'em I'm fresh out of luck, I'm here 'cause I
deserve to be, nigga I
sat back, a
vet, and watched beginners winning my belts Burned my bridges, came back a
good swimmer like Phelps You know the
feeling, young black male, what y'all dealin'? Take your whole life to get it, it only last you a
minute In the
kitchen counting cash with cats with backward agendas Put a
Benz in the
brick, then toss it back in the
blender That was us, next to a
big like I
was Puff The
good die young, all the
OGs thirty and up In Alexander McQueen kicks just to dirty 'em up Money tree, branches break when they not sturdy enough, uh See, I
was good with the
bad guy role Water in my jewels, put 'em on and baptize hoes Walk in my shoes, we got Shaq-sized soles (Huh) We flatline those wack rap niggas wearing half-sized clothes What's the
dealy? I'm only 'bout six hours from Philly That's an hour on the
plane, I'll make it three in the
Bentley My bitch keep saying I'm famous, but it ain't hit me I'm too ghetto, mellowed out, this Hollywood shit tricky See, before I
knew an A&R, I
was weighing hard Back when Nicki Minaj was in a
training bra You play this game, you better play it hard The
judge'll give you life and later that day, he gon' be playing golf I'm from that era, we don't pay it if you weighed it wrong Back when your parents got your baby shoes plated bronze We took hip-hop and made it ours I
sold quarters, just so happens I'm the
author of your favorite songs They bullshitted me, I
played along More bars than them niggas who got hit with the
Reagan laws Let's go [Black Thought:] Yo, when we was hooked in the
hood, getting booked like literature Kept us shook, like when the
boogieman coming to get ya We was crooks, tryna cop more rides than Great Adventure Any image we took, not a
father was in the
picture There was times, not a
bite nor swallow was in the
kitchen Real niggas made a
industry out of they intuition Facing the
darkest outcome, sprinting to outrun the
reaper Trying not to be the
food in the
mouth of the
beast For whom the
bell tolls Crown kings in Adidas suits and shell toes We had to throw a
lot of body blows and elbows Wishing we could get from Snyder Ave to Melrose Without the
Dapper Dan bodybags and jail clothes That warned niggas not to lollygag when Hell rose We railroaded through the
thicker things for gold chains and chicken change No one throwing flames, there's growing pains when in the
game And the
blow, ashes in the
snow, it's no remains Push the
wheel as fast as it could go, we overcame the
obstacles But when you official, the
block miss you Even if the
old crew choose not to rock with you We was blue-black, stuck in the
glue trap I
had to pull my own self up by the
bootstrap Where everybody play they own part like a
tooth gap And old heads teach the
young hitters to shoot back I
been living proof that the
pressure make precious stones And real Clarence Avants remain lesser known But anybody who question you, send a
message to 'em I
see my seat at the
table to be a
blessed throne Triumph and tragedy, his majesty muscle never atrophied The
devil is a
casualty, sucker, you're never catching me Even though you been after me, motherfucker You gotta bring a
army to harm me, I
occupy the
capacity up Decapitator of a
hater in this modern day My dossier no less, dealer spray Courvoisier I'm Jean-Paul Gaultier, Tom Ford, and Cartier Self-made, I
fly vintage from the
sommelier On reserve, flowing from the
blackest fountain It's all love from public housing to the
Atlas Mountains I've established the
average to always bat a
thousand So after butchering this track, it's back to counting The
money generated from me leaving microphones broke Probably almost on par with all of Escobar's coke When I'm finished, I'ma keep a
tennis shoe on y'all throat Just in case you mention in a
interview you want smoke, nigga Two Fifteen