| Okay, Nike Tech silks and Huaraches
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| Step through on the polly
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| George Jeffer' with ya bottom, better spoon (?) wasabi
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| Throwin' (?) like berettas, let 'em shoot like a homi'
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| Build a cypher in the hall, bet I funeral lobbies
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| Let’s get into it
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| Double (?) and double (?)
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| How I made mine to cut a (?) and let it roll
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| I’m with the same guys that juggle shells and juggle stoves
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| Know I (?) lines
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| I juggle cells and juggle thrones
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| I’m out the dirt
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| Swingin' at the Trumps if my Nia’s in it
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| And still got the line on the pieces hittin
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| Live out the Stuy
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| Come outside and seem like what seen is different
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| Around the corner still got the nina hittin'
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| Say hi to the C-list celeb who pen for the A-pluses
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| And work a bedroom like I’m gettin' paid for fuckin'
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| I’m here, change the discussion
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| Who want it?
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| Fuck, what the waitin' for?
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| Either say the verse or don’t say no more
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| Fuck with us, ahh
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| Ayo Zoo, good lookin'
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| Let’s get these niggas
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| Yo, so let me discuss, tell me, who really better than us?
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| My niggas killin' shit like, that ain’t aggressive enough
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| Y’all shit weak, I kind of feel like they left it to us
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| Okay cool, I’ll be glad to come and freshen it up
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| I’m Ol' Dirty in '94, bubble vest and some Chukks
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| You J.R. Smith in a slump, I’m Russell West' in the clutch
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| I just tell the fans the truth and y’all be dressin' it up
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| When they thought we was fallin' off, we was levelin' up, let’s go
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| Sometimes I feel like the trap kind of curse me
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| It’s flooded in my raps when I look back in all my verses
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| The D’s pass by and double back round to search us
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| 'Cause I get birds on the arm like a Matt Ryan jersey
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| Who ready to play? |
| I’ll slide broad day in the morning
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| Spittin' hot shit early like Sway In The Morning
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| At the West Inn, best friends makin' a porno
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| Chill and watchin' the Knicks play while I’m waitin' to join 'em
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| You got a direct connect, that’s major employment
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| Smokers steal from their children for a taste of this poison
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| And that’s in every ghetto, ain’t no way to ignore it
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| We gangstas, we get you clipped without raisin' our voices
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| Ride dirty, and break laws every day like it’s normal
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| Strapped up, we wear guns on our waist like it’s formal
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| And this verse right here, just a page in my journal
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| And you can’t see the scars 'cause the pain was internal
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| Growin' up in the hood we see the craziest things
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| Hustlas and ball players got the craziest game
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| Never our governments, we use the craziest names
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| And sons beefin' with they pops like Baby and Wayne
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| The hunter, uhh |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Hunter , by - Benny the Butcher. Song from the album 17 Bullets, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп