Fes Taylor - Trouble Lyrics
[sample]I love what I'm doin'I've always wanted to sayI started when I was about five years[Sense]Sense, man, gettin' it startedY'all know the flow is retardedSo I'ma keep it goin' regardlessWho the hardest that you ever heard?Maxin' out on every wordStill got a shotgun flow, mixed with a Dese verseGift wrapper or rappers, solo, clapper of clappersThe fresh Dickie suit is under the mattress"Ain't Nuthin' but a G Thang", we bring surgeriesGun clap, fall back, white tees, burgundyThese niggaz never heard of meStill, they try and murder meTeflon with the chest plate, try hurtin' meYo, you're poop with the groupers, my live niggaz shoot with the shootersYou the type that'll lose with the losersA gift to producers, cuz music beats is like cars to the streetsIt's so natural, I flow at youMy little niggaz, man, they nuts like cashewsCash Rules, we get up in these niggaz like tattoos[Fes Taylor]Aiyo, don't ask if I'm down with the WuJust cuz I'm from Staten Island, yeah I ***** with Deck, but I rep the 4 and the 2Catchin' me Hillside Scramblin', *****es like "Ooh!"When I hop out the brand new, 645, tan and blueThe middle of winter, look I've got a tan tooShe popped me with royalty cheques, look at my advance tooThe year of the Warriors, every year the shit is gettin' cornierThrow chicks in front of my shorty, make her hornierThis is a warning to ya, fake-ass rappers actin' like they want wit ya'Til I blast, should've ignored the liquorYou saw the picture, front page, all of my niggazLike magazine covers, that's why the streets love usSome rest in peace above us, some in the beast and wonderWhen they hit the streets who freakin' they baby motherIf we don't got shit, still know we got each otherHaters try and block me like pucks but this ain't hockey, *****er![Lot-a-Nerv]Welcome to New York, yao, welcome to New YorkNo disrespect to truth, but homey I am the truth, yupThey call me Lot-a, baby, that black .380 crazyI'm smokin' like Frasier, you see all these damn haters *****?Cuz my watch cost a flick, and my chain cost a brickAnd my ***** like Halle and Puffy mixedYou don't really wanna go there, homeboy, ya too softJust like beef, I get it gone just like goof offI'm in that two-door, draggin' along like two balls"Murder Was the Case" of the song playin' by Snoop DoggLot-a-Nerv, lot-a-money, lot-a-gunsLot-a's ass? Never that, y'all niggaz is fagsYup, yup, Lot-a's gettin' cash, jealous niggaz envy, yeahNiggaz wan' pop off, but we all know you ***** with shafts[Lon Dini]Lon Dini sip Heini's, hood labelled me grimyGoons wanna send out some goons to outline meThat's why when I step out the buildin' I watch behind meGod guide me, I mean that, greatest to ever rapLive by my words, seen many people die on the curbWhen I heard, mice, we left, man, I felt the ill surgeI guess, that's why I go in the booth and spill it looseNever pooly, on spot writer, I scribe fireFly attire I rock, heavy pistols I popSay a prayer for the peasents when the boss gettin' droppedNo more givin' dap to fake cats, lyrically aren't the matchMy Milli movement like powerful music, like only we do thisStep inside the square, half-*****ed and smack stupidHear my voice, you can loop it, you'll be makin' a hitSend 'em digits through to Two 4 War, now we legitDini, LIS, Fes and Baby Pa, we killin' this shit
