Niggas actin' like they're kings 'til i walk up on their throne Take a piss, kiss the ring, know it hurts, know it stings Red alert on the beam... Flocka home The kids misdirected and the cops are wrong Man they rattin' on each other, then they back at home Actin' like it never happened, backstabbin' wow What's next? Another rapper dead, no flex I'm goin' at your head, who the best? Cut the check, closed mouths never get fed Take the food off your plate, chew it in your face I can't hear your shit, moment of silence Condonin' the violence if you're proposin' a rising Their fan base mad I killed their favorite rapper I'm still your favorite trapper's favorite trapper Fuck freestyles, kill 'em with the written rhymes And all you cokehead rappers better get in line No subliminals, I'm direct gettin' off Your clique is soft, let your bitch kick it with a boss We're two people from the bottom, we're just different lanes Cole I feel your pain, feel like I was born again This the tiger and the lion, this is David and Goliath This Qua-ran and the Bible, this the pistol and the rifle In the cypher I ignite you - boom! It's a cold fuckin' world and I'm sneezin' bricks And we got grey tickets, on my season shit Break them chickens down, then we season it Re-press it, then send it, that's an easy flip Crush my enemies, they just envy me Now it's business entities, it was meant to be Squad life 'til they sentence me to centuries Can't get to me, I handle shit differently We never had shit, wonder why we lootin' If he ain't got a pistol, why the fuck he shootin'? I think them drugs pollutant, should've stayed a student But then I wouldn't be on stage givin' out the blueprint Holler at the movement, I'm about to lose it And when I do, lay it down, ain't no fuckin' movement They like, "Flock, what up with EDM?" Same rappers lowkey don't wanna see me win 50 thou for a verse, I don't need a friend And I don't really like your music, so why pretend? And how you gangbangin' after you're famous? Swear half of you brainless, you rappers are aimless You rappers are anus, I'm clappin' the stainless This accurate aimin', start droppin' your names in It's a new world order Made a dollar out a quarter, made some dollars out of quarters Now the show's across the boarders and they're slaughterin' our daughters And they're killin' all our sons, this shit ain't just for fun We used to put our hands up and box on the block Now you put your hands up and get shot by a cop I sat first class by Donnie McClurkin He said, "God got a plan, young man, keep workin'" I know, Flocka!
"Fire Squad" remix, man. "I Can’t Rap: Vol. 2", man. J. Cole, what’s poppin', bruh? Still looking for a blunt roller, man. 50k a year, man. Make sure you bring your Pine Bros. Yeah, get it. You dig what I’m saying, man? I got bars, man. I ain’t talking about prison, man. Fuck you mean, man? Waka Flocka! Flame! Flocka! Rrah! Rrah! Rrah! They hate that shit, man, but they love it at the same time, man. You gotta respect this shit, man. Three bars of flame, man. Leader of the new school, Waka Flocka Flame, man.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
