Fes Taylor - Pop Off Lyrics
[Fes Taylor]Y'all been hating for a long time, and I ain't said shit yetWhat I gotta do to get respectPull out pistol on people, brought burners to battlesRather resort to violence, then spit words, then at youSo if we go head up, I punch first, jab and hookMy pen's the fire, to any pad or bookPieces of paper, turning to flame, return of the gameMake acid fall from the sky, burn when it rainMurder you slang, Taylor'll bang like HusseinA Wolf with two fangs, manuever with gangsNew York slang salesman, heat put a tan on your pale skinYou dumb *****s, like Launchpad from TailSpinCops stay corrupt, play parts like Anthony Quinn***** your man up, now tell me who the champion thenI play blocks like a stop sign, see me on every cornerGlock nine, I pop mine, bury the informer[Chorus 2X: Fes Taylor]Everybody got a gun, but how many is really popping offEverybody running in buildings, when villains popping offIt ain't safe for women and children, when it's popping offBe a man, stop the talk and start popping off[Fes Taylor]Hunger pains got my stomach touching my backIn my younger days, I was pumping crack, clutching my gatI'm older now, so they expect me to hold it downGo to war with police that patrol my townStaten Isle, I'm straight from the livest boroughDisagree, oh yeah, you can die in your boroughYou lie in a puddle, I fly in your shuttle, BMWZ4, the law make you cry and you crumbleGangstas humble, Wolf Pack's anxious to rumbleWarriorz'll jump you in the jungle, you hating, ***** youMiddle finger to the sky, this year we getting bigger pieces of the pieTell my Visa, goodbyeI coughed alot, you leasing a 5, you fought from the topReach for the sky, hard on the block, you seak in disguisePush the record buttong on your cassette decksMade songs in the crib, with a mic and a handset[Chorus 2X][Fes Taylor]Yo, capital L, capital G, if I die or retireYou rappers'll be happy something happen to meNobody can't eat no more, til my belly fullPurple haze blunts, make me choke after every pullNo machete pull, got guns under heavy woolWintertime, jet ski's on the back, while the Chevy pullTahoe with Joey's finest, I'm Shaolin's grimiestAmerica's most wanted, you'll probably find me withProduct of Park Hill, NARC's tried to stick me with marked billsSo they can ship me, the art to kill, butI move too swift, grown ass man with a two fifthPlaying with a child's gun, claiming you ruthlessThis is true shit, Deck, what's good, my nigga?This is 'The Movement', ***** you with a pool stickLike Gano D, 'In Too Deep', I've been through beefMake the block hot, son, like central heat[Chorus 2X]
