Lyrics Don't Talk About It - Ed O.G

Don't Talk About It

Yo, niggas goin' down like a toilet flushes
I’m talkin' shit like a high-school chick in the back of ghetto-routed busses
I multiply while you on plusses
Reppin' broke niggas with no crutches
On hot days, I’m like slushies — cool you down
Can you rhyme without a cuss
Think this blackhead gon' turn to a whitehead and bust
You mad ‘cause your trick blush at the sight of us
We hotter than y’all — that’s why you niggas ain’t likin' us
But you don’t frighten us — up and up, start fightin' us
And we’ll see you be bitin' dust — can you say a rhyme to enlighten us?
Now, we gon' ride this wave like a brush
And turn your mouth into mush — a gag order, shh, hush
All that hardcore shit?
Yo, we gon' see about it
Don’t talk about it, son, be about it
With all that, yo, we gon' see about it
Don’t talk about it, son, be about it
What I gave y’all before was just a fraction
I’m not about the talk, I’m about the action
Not about the ice nice go pause in the fashion
I’m about career and shit, and long-lastin'
Puncturin' MCs' lungs and leave ‘em gaspin'
Crashin' has-beens like skiers up in Aspen
Rock yo block here’s an Aspirin for askin'
Tryna move to the Benjamins but I’m still up on the Jacksons
Sippin' E&J to get the cream like askin'
I do it for the love, and I do it for the passion
And for you fools, I got tools like a craftsman
I get you wet without the water even splashin'
All that hardcore shit?
Yo, we gon' see about it
Don’t talk about it, son, be about it
With all that, yo, we gon' see about it
Don’t talk about it, son, be about it
Ed O.G.
be number one like Preemo — wanna bet like a casino?
Indie folk or amigos, they’ll be comin' like El Nino
For my wifey, moms, or bambino
Rep attorney style like the general named Janet Reno
You local small stars and small bars
Could never ever Converse with All Stars
You like a bee without a stinger
When you point the finger, that’s when we got beef like Jerry Springer
I get the payoff for hard work
Boston niggas beatin' up entertainers at they own concerts
Give me a shot and I’mma score
Ave. 194 I was raised on the third floor
But anyways, Ed O.G.
be
I’mma hit you with these rhymes,