Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Back to the Bars, Pt. 2, artist - Dj Kay Slay. Album song Living Legend, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.03.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: EMPIRE, StreetSweepers
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 |