Lyrics Cant Outrap Me - Lord Superb

Cant Outrap Me

Let me tell these niggas how I feel
Aiyo, it ain’t no that, that can outrap me, man
Niggas don’t do it like I do this shit, man
For real, I do it, man, I do it for me
Now I do it for Stack Bundles, I do it for the Riot
Far Rock America, we in the muthafucking building
Ya’ll niggas hear me?
Alright, listen
Bulletproof the muthafucking booth, I’m bout to go in, listen
Niggas wanna shoot me up, cuz I got a living room
In my coupe, plus the roof is cut
Even the ashtrays got wood on 'em
I’m the nicest nigga alive, I put my hood on it
Don’t rock my bitch, put my kid on it
I’mma ride til I die, die cuz I live for it
Tell my soldiers bubble the wet, while I’m out in Iraq
Try to find us an oil connect
Haters can’t touch us, no, I just took
Everything we had, copped some Russian dough
Hustlers said I’m on some real bullshit, cuz I got the
Fiends in the hood calling the block Little Bushwick
It’s big whips now, cuz it’s big flips now
Was a Toys R Us kid, I’m a big kid now
When you see me riding clean, with the dope fiend lean
Know soon as I came home, I got dope fiend green
That’s green from the dope fiends, I ain’t sniffing
I did, six on my head, I ain’t snitching
My Riot Squad niggas is the best hustlers
Telling all ya’ll little scrappies, we some head bustas
Til Stack call, buy all the chips
Make it hot like ya’ll in Miami with minks
Soon as I come home, I’m bringing my gun home
Watch it pop off, I’mma blow the industry top off
I don’t need Jacob to get my rocks off
Perb is not soft, Perb is hot sauce, muthafuckas
I’m hot sauce, I’m hot sauce, nigga
I’m hot sauce, listen, listen
When you hear the word 'hustler', think of the kid
Rock star, got a pot stove and sink in my whip
Cot that Crouching Tiger coke, think of the flip
Had to take it off the boat, it was sinking the ship
I be looking for a reason to pimp, watch that
Even Michael Jackson think with his dick
So if, Jada’s the champ, let him know the boss is here
I handle more boy and girl than foster care
The twenty ten Porsche is here, Jack Frost is here
Who give a fuck about your earrings, I shoot off your ears
Truck got a little dents in it, few off this year
All we do is close deals, and make offers here
Ramada music, the booth is like room service
A million course meals, E pills, and record deals
Grind all that up front money, fuck record sales
Thousand dollar leather belt, both feet Picasso
Had the jewelry and the clothes, I’m looking rich like an oil painting
Party at the house on the hills
Plus the car I drive look like 50 crib on wheels
G’d up, the feet cost six hundred
My clothes prices is high like they get blunted
I dress like I’m a star, but, I am
As for my jewels, they sent my watch in an armored car
Niggas on the corner, dope prices getting steep
He hit my shit twice, I thought he was sleep
Came up out his knob, wiped his slob
Licked the paper, gave that shit a blowjob
Said damn that shit is hard, where you get it from, God?
I re-up from the ground, I get it from God
There’s enough to go around, you can get it tomorrow
What you call that shit, Perb?
Bolivian Tar
We got it for ya’ll niggas, man
Meet me by Ralph’s, nigga
Bolivian Tar