| Take you to new heights, let’s go up a few flights
|
| We heard what was said, I’mma shed some true light
|
| This is art, no corporate crap
|
| Rock the t-shirt next off the hat
|
| Watch me show splendor I’m no pretender
|
| Caus I can bring summer during cold December
|
| Golden embers, burnt MC’s remains
|
| They traded they name, for some sleazy pain
|
| When it all turns out they forgotten about
|
| Well I’m the one that the homies are talkin about
|
| Relevant and heaven sent, 7 Grand my back
|
| Hot lyrics from the sun that’ll tear in you black
|
| Understand if you pack enough ammo to scramble
|
| I’m far from Sambo, I’m more like Rambo
|
| Danger, explosive devices
|
| And we the ones that you need to keep close in a crisis
|
| Listen, Lord Tariq baby
|
| Bronx, P-Lawn baby, put it on 'em God
|
| Yo who better than he ever been, O.G. |
| veteran
|
| Had to get back to it, Lord never settlin
|
| Cause it’s my business that niggas steady meddle in
|
| Any club you see me in believe I got the metal in
|
| Saddle up, a fifty calibre is gonna level 'em
|
| See the crowd Run like the Reverend
|
| Dum-dums hum through your leather and it’s evident no evidence
|
| Back like Bush~! |
| I’m the President, who better than
|
| Uptown’s finest, L.T. |
| your highness
|
| 40 niggas with nines, we the 49'ers
|
| Album done response most labels wanna sign us
|
| They know we street designers and we keep that heat behind us
|
| I can speak my piece and leave — my speech the flyest
|
| On each and every street O.G.'s co-sign us
|
| Cops try to stop us, men try to contain us
|
| If you shootin at the stars you only gettin to Uranus
|
| BRRRRAP~! |