Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song What You Got, artist - Chino XL.
Date of issue: 31.12.2007
Song language: English
What You Got |
Y’all coward niggaz make a nigga like me laugh, |
what the fuck? |
yea, yea. |
chargin y’all niggaz |
yea, yea. |
behold the only thing greater than yourself |
I’ll slash ya grill, don’t start me You’ll be the only entertainer with less groupies than Biz Markie |
I’m never dull, Chino the pretty thug, style centerfold, |
I’ll have every latin in the country aimin at ya skull |
I’ll aim it at the Pope if he claimin he sellin the most dope |
My Jersey blocks is locked tighter than prisoners hold soap |
And listeners where we vote out ya CD and vinyl, the final result |
Yell, fuck tricks and smoke, till our vocals combine with a Colt |
They playin this in every club, whip, party and bar you in Give you more blood clots than two jamaicans arguin |
Sweat till ya fake silver platinum chains is tarnishin |
Women shakin they ovaries, look what we accomplishin, what. |
We got better lyrics than you got What You Got? |
We got better bitches than you got What You Got? |
We run with more killas than you got What You Got? |
We got better whips than you got What You Got? |
We got better cribs than you got What You Got? |
We got better bitches than you got What You Got? |
We run with more killas than you got What You Got? |
We got better lyrics than you got What You Got? |
Coming to kill me, I cant hear that |
Fear is a stimulus I haven’t been programmed to feel yet |
Snatch you outta your Roots like I’m from Illadelph |
What I do to push your hairline back, Rogaine wont help |
My Quest for the Wealth, like Stone Cold Austin’s quest for the belt |
I mention myself as a celestial cell, an extension of hell |
At a lynching I smile, cut myself down, murder your guest list |
My style never a drag like they do black men in Texas |
Next rapper to mention this, I’ma show them the real threat |
Cause I’ma ride till my daughters like Daddy are we there yet? |
Ain’t no priest in the streets, only drugs before miracles |
See more keys than a lot of Hammer’s repossessed vehicles |
Told you I was coming, you ain’t believe I’m assumin |
If we all super heroes, these bitch niggaz must be Wonder Women |
Fist to fist, skin to skin, I make you fall flat |
Brat little niggaz, the tat on my shoulder cover they whole back |
Cant hold back, splatter they whole rap to match my ((?)) |
Shittin on MC’s, wipin my ass on they notebooks |
How the broke crooks in videos leave me stressed |
I’ll turn on channel 2 if I wanna CBS, bitch |
(Chorus w/ slight variation) |
Least but not last, I’ll blast an informant |
Until he has the cash to put end to his torment |
Now shine up the brass for his coffin |
I’m last of the rawest, my passion ain’t dormant |
I’ve mastered the forces, I rap to the chorus, |
My cast is enormous, I’m fast and I’m cautious |
Twenty inch arms stronger than forklifts |
Smoke hash in front of reporters till I choke and they nauseous |
And smash through the glass of your Porsche’s |
Show you how Newark is as hard as divorces |
Lay you out dead in the grass on the forest |
My craft is flawless, have ya flesh wrapped in a blackened sausage |
Blood Splashed across it for rhymin like a fag in a cordless |
Murder all witnesses, nosey, standing on porches, |
Like torches, super human, Chino’s skin never scorches |
Drape your family reunion in black funeral mourners |
Have cats that sell ya drugs for you, avoid usual corners |
I never lost this mad lust to be rap’s Colossus |
Breakin companies, Jersey got women strapped inside they office |
I got. |
DJ Supporters and women makin sex offers |
I got. |
A crib like a fortress, tuition for all my daughters |
I got. |
Rhymes hot like sauna’s, and thousands from Time Warner |
I got. |
Killas on every corner, surrounded by jewish lawyers |
What what what. |
(Chorus w/ slight variation) |