| Holla
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| No sorrow haters wrapped in a Tahoe
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| For all those who saw J smash the Apollo yikes
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| All covered in ice like I was standing in Times Square
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| On «The Day After Tomorrow"holla
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| I’m in to bigger dough, sicker flow
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| Rocky dial what make it possible to Rocky-bow hit your hoe
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| I feel like Bigelow 'cause ever since I got the churp number
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| All I been hearing was bleep like the Springer show
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| I got Poppa Al money you got pocket-style money
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| Doggie, these maurie’s try a thou’dunny
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| Girl’s dropping wild funny
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| Soon as I step in and want to grab on the gator like Crocodile Dundy
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| See I’m the worst round, you’ll hit the dirt ground
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| I surf towns in Jaguars that’s dirt brown
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| I know it hurt clown, to see me laid in a suite
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| Under sheets, stuffed with more feathers than a First Down
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| Comfortable
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| Yo I copped a couple K’s for the beef when it goes down
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| I told niggaz that they couldn’t eat in they own town
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| Fuck off the strip, for I bust off a clip
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| My time is money I got to get the fuck off this brick
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| Follow me around and we’ll see the life of a hustler
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| Follow you around and we’ll see the life of a buster
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| Beat down, smacked up, robbed every minute
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| And my soldiers, they treat me like I’m God every minute
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| Hot as a fuck, but don’t get acknowledged enough
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| This is grade-A piff you got garbage to puff
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| And when it come to my rocks get it polished and buffed
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| Same thing with your girl I get polished and buffed
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| A few bricks on the table, I’m smoking by the pound
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| If I don’t blow I’m on the next thing smoking out of town
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| I’m sitting on grenades, I’m sitting on some blades
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| Yay, flip it suede fitted sitting on my braids
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| Nigga I got gats to tuck and Cadillac the truck
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| I deal with mathematics homeboy and you ain’t adding up Two plus two don’t equal five
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| I eat the truth but feed you lies you bitch nigga
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| And I ain’t ask to come through, man I’m barging out
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| From now on you address me as?
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| I’m the kid from 140 baby
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| 40 making all the cake
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| My dope like tsunami, I kill 'em off a water weight
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| You play 50 get your story straight
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| Niggaz up in 50 minus 2, that’s ya number due, the 48
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| Well do the math, the nigga’s a problem
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| You broke, ya dead broke when I kill 'em and rob 'em
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| 40, niggaz think they can call shots.
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| Y’all ain’t got no winds you lost hair like a bald spot
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| You want the Tupac Shakur props?
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| But it’s like a disease now 'cause all y’all got is smallpox
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| And that’s off top at ya door with 4 knocks
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| 40 catch vicks in they halls like coughdrops
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| Porsche box, school you how to sell the coke-a
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| 'Cause «Diplomat"without the «t"spells diploma
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| Tryna, tell you dolja, the flame in ya ass
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| The game in a smash, 40 keep his name in a stash
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| You the type to go to jail, turn ya name to Shebazz
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| I’m a menace, the O-Dog with the 'Caine on the ave |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Pit , by - Dipset. Song from the album More Than Music, Vol. 1, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп