Fes Taylor - Return Of The Great Lyrics
[Fes Taylor]I shed a tear for my nigga Why, then I looked up toward the cloudSeen my nigga B-Ghost in the skyPlus Spider-Man took a shank in his neck, me, myself?I even been face to face with deathBut yo, nothing hurt me more then when they took away flexTreat 'em like they owe me money, son, ya'll gon' pay debtsLike, eye for an eye, this is the revenge***** a drive-by, age back seat in the syringeHope you die slow, homeboy screaming for the five-ohSave us like 'no way', ambulance drive thoughDead on arrival, if you my rivalIf I ain't killed you, I tried to, admit I lied toJudge Brendon to his face, for my niggasI ***** it and send it through his face, still pending a caseStill winning a race, cover your face, invisible takeMake sure you niggas see a miserable fateIt's the great when I spit on a take, Fes Taylor on a CDWhen you see me, I'm the same *****ing wayThis is real hip hop, for the Killah Hill blockMake the world bop, like girls giving head wopI ain't here to battle nobody, cuz none of ya'llCan ***** with me, trust me, I have your favorite rapper ducking meA million and nine months, ya'll rappers been slippingFor too long, now your time's up, you can find usPark Hill, by the four building, grinding it upMore drama, firing squad, lining 'em upLaying 'em down, it's amazing, what paper do nowHave niggas you grew up with, hating your styleI tried to show 'em how to stack a couple in the bank, instead of thanksYou turn your back, they bang you with shanksWe can all get rich together, if we stick togetherBuy cribs, cop whips together, shitYou went to jail together, made sales togetherGot bagged, made bail togetherIt's like, either we succeed or we fail togetherCelebrate, drink ale together, yoThis is for my homies, word life, I do this for youAin't a thing in this world I wouldn't do for my crewSon, I love my hood, I blaze my block, cuz itRaise me good, to give what I gotEven though I had to pitch rock, dip from the copsOn the run from the police, sleeping in different spotsHope my team get bagged, you hating, snitch, the lab get raidedWe too smart, son, the lab is bakingThey already caught 'em slipping when they ran in 3WWild West Wolves, three times WMeet Two 4 War, more like a warlordRun up on your four door, with a shot full of golf balls'93 Halloween, running with X-Factor2004, one of the WolfpackersStill packing them hammers, but I ain't trynnaLet 'em throw me back in the slammer, I act in a mannerWas more civilized back in the AtlantaGuess it's the city, kind of like I'm rapping on cameraAll hyped up, when I got a mic in my clutchIn studio booth, tough, lighting a dutchLike a dope fiend, hiking a rush, fans screaming my nameI've returned, they glad that I came
