Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Back to the Bars Pt. 2 , by - Dj Kay Slay. Release date: 20.02.2020
Song language: English
Back to the Bars Pt. 2 |
| Ayy, yo |
| It’s DJ Kay Slay, The Drama King |
| The Living Legend, representin' for the culture |
| And culture is a way of life |
| Sheek Louch, set it off |
| Ayy, yo, peace, Lord, how y’all been? |
| It’s been a since we talked so I figure let me grab my pen |
| Basic shit, drinkin' liquor, talkin' shit at the games (Facts) |
| Couple niggas doin' good but the rest is the same |
| Still fly, heart emojis and a bunch of flames (Donnie) |
| I got a shit load of money but I barely do chains |
| Nice watch, workin' hard, like to sleep on the planes (Uh huh) |
| When I land, light up and get greeted with brains |
| Ha, Donnie, the Lionel Richie of the Commodores (Sheek) |
| For twenty years I been hotter than Bahama floors |
| O.G., so I was probably in your mama drawers (Ha ha) |
| Been gettin' money since Ruff Ryder Cash Money tours (Woo) |
| Dead, and I still let that cannon off |
| Whole clip, I don’t plan on goin' back and forth |
| Google me, nigga, ain’t nothin' 'bout me been soft |
| Sincerely yours, hope this letter make it up north (Sheek) |
| Swervin' through traffic on the Saw Mill |
| Headed to Yonkers |
| Styles P, let’s go |
| I ain’t have a trap but I had a crack spot |
| I was movin' black tops playin' black cop |
| Seen a top on a lap before a laptop |
| Over bloody money, niggas let the gat pop |
| If you on the frontline, never back block |
| Then you better have a gat or be a sasquatch |
| We was have-nots, now we have knots |
| Smokin' weed in the hatchback with a glass top |
| I still pay homage to all the Reaganomics |
| Flashbacks await, the H’ll make 'em vomit |
| Pushin' the whip color like SuperSonics |
| Smokin' Gary Payton while I’m playin' Delfonics |
| Even when I’m lyin', bitch, I’m bein' honest |
| I ain’t with the drama but I’m with the honor |
| You should know that I got the llama |
| I’m burnin' money and I’m burnin' scama |
| Cruisin' across the Brooklyn Bridge |
| Shouts to Marcy’s own Sauce Money |
| Let’s go |
| If it’s money on the table, I’ll assault y’all kitchen (Uh) |
| For niggas with bright ideas, I’ll off y’all switchin' (Uh huh) |
| Tryna block moves from gettin' Sauce more chicken |
| Underhanded niggas like they Softball pitchin' (Woo) |
| You got a job for haters, you better hire 'em swiftly (Come on) |
| 'Cause once we locate 'em, then we expire 'em quickly |
| I’m the one, akh |
| Without a gunshot at Curtis |
| This is how it sounds when you fire at 50 (Woo) |
| I open-palm haters and suckas get backhands (Yeah) |
| I pick off emcees to pick on rap fans |
| You find your stomach shrinkin', let me help you with your thinkin' |
| Sometimes my punchlines turn into lap bands (Talk to 'em) |
| Niggas worse than hoes, fuck what he tell she (Fuck 'em) |
| Sucka for love, niggas want T-L-C |
| You could keep dreamin', but I’ma keep leanin' |
| And keep heat steamy while screamin', «Free LG» |
| Pushin' up that West Side Highway to Harlem |
| Nino Man, Twelveth Street |
| Let’s go |
| Yo, they say I’m the chosen one like Neo |
| Nah, bitch, I’m Nino |
| Trapped out the Rio, crack rocks of kilos |
| Niggas send shots and miss, they better reload |
| 'Cause when I send shots it’s, they gotta relocate |
| Wait, I move like I’m runnin' late |
| No time for nobody, I’m sorry, I want the cake |
| I mean, I’m not even really sorry, I’m bein' fake |
| I mean, how could you ever be sorry for bein' great? |
| I mean, they be knowin' |
| I could slide in they main dame when the baby showin' |
| Can’t even stay in they own lane and they be bowlin' |
| Don’t ever loan 'em a damn thing 'cause they be owin' |
| That’s why they lady hoe’in' |
| I can’t believe all this hate I see |
| I got the juice over here, you gotta drink Hi-C |
| I’m with your boo gettin' head like a state I. D |
| Look, I could never be fake, I’m me |
| Nino Man |
| You know how that bike life go down |
| One wheel up in the sky up Lenox Ave |
| Vado, let’s go |
| Yo, unleash your fingers with pressed keys |
| Chains on galore before it was just |
| Be in Hell’s Kitchen cookin' up like the |
| Off-white shirts lookin' like they 3X tees |
| Yeah, we now orderin' less weed |
| Fiends movin' fast on the water like jet skis |
| I’m the type to eat with you, call for the check, please |
| 'Fore you send your soldier in, make sure you check these |
| Bitches gettin' kicked to the curb in they best Birken |
| Move to any county in Jers' except Bergen |
| Pull up in that Maybach pearl with the red curtain |
| Ask niggas they networkin' or neck workin' |
| Tryna cop numbers, I’m hopin' the net workin' |
| Bus comin' in every day, the connect workin' |
| Huh, understand the mindstate |
| Now you could understand the crime rate |
| Doin' 90 down the turnpike to Philly |
| RJ Payne, represent, bruh |
| Payne |
| Tre Eight snub clean the buildin' |
| Clip full of slugs, they think it’s Serena Williams |
| Shit is like a drug, been tryna repeat the feelin' |
| Termites in a barrel, these bullets’ll eat your ceilin', Payne |
| Every rhyme is stellar, different kind of fella |
| Dillinger with the six-pack, the Teyana Taylor |
| Medusa face on my Versaci, word to Donatella |
| My chicken got these niggas sick, shit is salmonella |
| When you this damn special, they can’t catch you |
| I fight and I shoot, Van Damme and Van Exel |
| Out the park shit, grand slam, it’s ancestral |
| Dead a man, them rubber bands, these hands stretch you |
| Fuck who nice, nigga, who play greater? |
| Slay said he need a verse, it came two days later |
| I let these sucka niggas prove they haters |
| Diss me on Monday, they read about you in the Tuesday paper |
| Payne |
| Fresh off a flight front Flint, Michigan |
| Jon Connor, close it out |
| Let me just set the record straight |
| My résumé is the best to date, nigga, let’s debate |
| Michigan, I’m from the water-is-lead-infested state |
| Where niggas rather be dead than safe |
| Starve and dyin' over bread and cake |
| Judge know he gon' send you to the feds before the lawyer even pled the case |
| Adrenaline buildin' |
| Connor back killin' these niggas with Slay |
| And I know you was missin' that feelin' |
| They like, «He got a deal and went missin'» |
| No, he got a deal and they tried to convince him I needed permission to finish |
| the vision that Allah intended |
| You got it, I get it |
| And I will admit it, that Connor just prob’ly ain’t meant for the system |
| Peep my position |
| Disappeared and came back like a fuckin' magician |
| Mad with a swag like you fuckin' my bitches |
| You thought with the toughest intentions, predicted to tuckin' your dick in |
| when shit get in sync |
| Them be the niggas I hate and be talkin' the loudest |
| See, most of these niggas is cowards |
| Keep runnin' your mouth and they buyin' fresh caskets and flowers |
| Warnin', I just took a bottled water shower this mornin' |
| Flint shit, the reason behind all the passion when I’m recordin' |
| Pissed off, so I’ma let your bitch fuck me 'til my dick soft |
| Porn shit, long-ass tube socks and won’t even take my kicks off |
| If you ask me, the universe gave y’all four years to try to pass me |
| And now that we back on course, I’m fuckin' y’all over with no remorse |
| A boss, I own my own shit |
| Now I ain’t gotta postpone shit |
| Revolution on my mind like the black fist on the comb pick |
| It’s finna get ugly |
| This time they not takin' it from me, this ain’t for the money |
| This time, I’m fuckin' they bitch while I’m doin' the Dougie |
| This the preview of the shit I got comin' |
| Gone |