Lyrics Never - J-Love, RZA, Free Murda

Never

Yo, it makes no sense
Why the fuck is y’all niggas so dense?
Trying to jump the fence
You trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents
Like this nigga Flint, he had no fucking sense
Trying to disrespect the Prince, make a hit like Bucky Dent
Money clip clenched, all his dollars and cents
Wouldn’t give a dime to a wench
Even though catching cream was a cinch
From still penny pinch on the park bench
Holding his nine inch tight as a wrench
Bent til' his eye squint
FZA-FZA-FZA-Flusty from the dust, you could smell the stench
Money green cream from wintergreen mints
Spent his time in limousines, slightly tint
Wherever he went, cause an incident
With 10 henchmen jumping outta doors, suspension Lincoln
Ready for lynching any competition, thinking
They could catch him while he be drinking
Big niggas be shrinking when he come through
A major player, said he was the Alpha and Omega
But still slipped the 40 ounce from the local bodega
Wait… wait, this fucker, Money Talk like Chris Tucker
Bitch stuck a shoe game like Miss Rucker
Never give your gun to a friend
'Cause he’ll never bring it over again
Never leave your ho alone
With your dog, 'cause he might try to bury his bone
What’s this O talk about, she used to have blocks
I don’t wanna hear about ya man crack spots
I don’t wanna hear about that van with black Glocks
About 102 of us like the dogs wit' the black dots
Better keep ya mind and ya hand on that stashbox
We rolled up with more cars than that Matchbox
Pop one right in ya chat box, niggas don’t wanna gatbox
They wan' chatbox, my gat cocked
Have niggas taking up back blocks
Can’t walk through the middle 'cause they talk just a little
Too much, niggas want more than a little
That’s too much, for a draw, send a dog to his kennel
He boozed up, like a plumber, keep my tools up
I’m icy, the R.L. Stine, I got the Goosebumps
Got hit in the head, that’s how he dumbfounded
Got hit so much he thought he was surrounded
Now I’m lounging, been had them thousands
Free stack more bricks than a project housing
My guns make Five Hearts Beat, like Robert Townsend
I be five cars deep, right in ya town, son
Talking all slick 'til I send that kite
He ain’t «Three's Company», pumping Nicks at Nite
We ain’t need company, we got chicks at night
Niggas need company 'cause we got fifths at night (blaow!)
Never give your gun to a friend
'Cause he’ll never bring it over again
Never leave your ho alone
With your dog, 'cause he might try to bury his bone