| Ap ain’t merciful
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| Shoot up your convertible
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| Lay your body flat while your soul goes vertical
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| Versatile, impossible to pigeon hole
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| Gettin’doe, spittin’flows
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| From complex text to pimpin’hoes
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| That’s why your girlfriend feel me man
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| It’s alarmin’how charmin’I really am
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| Got a glock that’ll Rock like a Band
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| So this gun in my right hand is named Steely Dan
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| Steal the show, steal hoes, steal your fans
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| Steal my flow?
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| We’ll hang you from ceiling fans
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| Your little hoe tryin’to front like she’s hard to get off?
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| Tell that finger lickin’chicken bring the barbecue sauce
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| Ayo I stay clean Rake Doe, lay low with a full clip
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| My yayo fiends on payroll get smacked over bullshit
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| Motive, notice I never fall victim to no one
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| The truth that’ll fuck tracks in the booth with a Trojan
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| Respect due cause whole crew, is professionals
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| Quickly show a nigga what a knife in the chest will do
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| While y’all front, still spittin’the same
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| The only time y’all kill somethin’is on a video game
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| Cause any beef we’re gonna ride at all cost
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| Have you shot in your cars
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| Have you sittin'+Sideways+ like Paul Wall
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| Chopped and Screwed up, cause you niggas do suck
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| That’s why your girls chained to our sticks like nunchucks
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| You got a death wish I’m the Fresh Prince of tech clips
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| You gotta respect it
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| The west died I came in
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| Resurrected the west side like Game did
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| You ain’t shit
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| I came with a gang that’s brain dead
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| And walk around talkin’to they selves like Rain Man
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| My game plan is thick
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| Your dames on my dick
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| All my girlfriends got name tags that all say «Bitch»
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| Y’all can’t really spit
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| Rip tracks, I spit crack
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| Click chrome and finish off cliques like six packs
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| S.O.B./be the first sucker to mouth off
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| I call Celph up tell him to bring me the cow prod
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| And that’s all
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| (AND THAT’S ALL!)
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| Don’t ask me for nothin'
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| Ask me for somethin'
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| Mega-Ton bombs strapped to my chest
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| Don’t even ask if I’m buggin'
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| Warlord from the dark star
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| All my dogs bark paw
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| Talk hard and get hit by a parked car
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| Swimmin’where the sharks are
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| Yes I’m one guy
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| That won’t speak when I’m holdin’heat cause I’m gun shy
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| You’re damn right that I’m a studio gangster
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| Bring the Mac-11 to your mix down and shoot the place up
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| Your bitch get face fucked
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| Bustin’on her Clairol
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| Deep throatin’so far she coughin’up hairballs
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| Disregard the law
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| Fuck a gun ban
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| I got a group of musicians with AKs that’s my gun band
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| See it’s like that y’all (that y’all)
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| That y’all (that y’all)
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| And that’s all!
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| You know me homie I’m a tax a million cats
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| Till they can’t rap
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| Get the cash that feelin''em yeah
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| They call him Tak with a glass of Guinness
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| To rock city blocks
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| And bringin''em +Back To The Grill+ again
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| The Demi-G.O.D.s
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| We take 'em a little higher
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| Than California bud when we smoke trees
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| Tryin’to walk is like Calypso with broke knees
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| With half of your body slain with your brain in your goatee
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| Oww, that’s on S.O.B.
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| Plus I carry a knife cause I’m a sick dope fiend
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| Got 'em panickin', damn it cause the bandit has spoken
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| Yeah, it don’t take much to bust a cantaloupe open
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| Bitch |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Live at the Bbq (feat. Motive, Styles of Beyond & Celph Titled) , by - Apathy. Song from the album Hell's Lost & Found: It's the Bootleg, Muthafuckas! Vol. 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп