| Ah, yo 2000
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| Grand Imperial
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| New and improved
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| Show and prove
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| Yo, the underground rap veteran here to bring you
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| Cats the medicine to stop all the shit you’ve been peddlin
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| Ain’t nothin' better when your pockets is phat
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| Niggas get up in the game and start changing they stacks
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| Without gats I can run in your spot
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| And take everything you got
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| Without bustin' a shot
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| Nothin' but the hotness
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| Nigga we got this
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| Your same old style is now soundin' monotenous
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| Close caption hold cats that’s ready for action
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| I wouldn’t give y’all the satisfaction
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| (Yo better get your crack or so
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| Cause I can light to your ass when the track is old nigga)
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| I switch tones like I switch colognes
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| And keep it bangin hard to your stereo headphones
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| It’s dick Swanson for the niggas that still ridin' the Johnson
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| Hate cats harder than Zack Bronson
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| I’m from the coast where they cary the toast
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| And puttin clothes to your hair spittin' lyrics instead
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| Never in arrears? |
| The cash
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| You being pushed out the block still coming in last
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| I let it blast so you niggas can feel
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| Fuck shady cats actin' like they cuttin' some deals
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| I tell you cats this I be swingin the fish
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| You know the beats still bang and the lyrics is crisp
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| Ey yo
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| We spit it
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| You cats better get with it
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| Nothin' but cash man we stay fresh minted
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| If niggas is laid out then Rasco did it
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| Find me at the spot with the gunz still hot
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| I came to expose these mediore flows
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| Niggas who talk trash on weak ass shows
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| Niggas that ride dicks of weak ass clicks
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| Niggas that get smashed for being in the mix
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| I stand alone you clone your shit
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| You ponder recash that don’t even know shit
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| Puttin' you out there to make 'em cash
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| Blame yourself when your career don’t last
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| Outta your class vast amidst four tips with blue prints
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| Of books with some raw ass hooks
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| Never ran with crooks, I use my brain
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| Dissin' the rowl instead of dissin' cocaine
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| Tryin' to explain, your click ain’t sick
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| I’m ready to smack y’all with forty five licks
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| Right to the teeth I spit heat to the street for real
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| Still lookin' for the cash and a deal
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| Who’s fault is that? |
| It sounds like yours
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| Nothin' but rhymes that come straight from the pause
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| Settle the score but don’t spit in our clothes
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| I’m fittin' somewhere between the highs and the lows
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| Blowing back to those that shattered that glass
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| You know it’s for real cause your sister sold by the glass
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| I tell you cats this I be swingin the fish
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| You know the beats still bang and the lyrics is crisp
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| Ey yo
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| Ey check this
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| I ain’t even begin I still blow a niggas plan turn water to sand
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| Every blade is plain I rain on a niggas parade
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| Throwin' grenades at his fresh cut dane
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| Every joint is made on rhymes from the spot
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| You fuckin' with us you better bring all you got
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| Ras came to rock for real mc’s
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| And fuck keepin' it real, I need those G’s
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| One hundred degrees I burn outta turn so learn
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| Don’t but here when you got no concern
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| Niggas get smacked for doin' shit like that
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| I verbally blast and pull his whole wig back
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| Straight from the ca we ain’t no kids
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| You better rethink that and raise that bid
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| You know what it is rush the bus like us
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| Living this plush plush the trust is a must
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| Ready to crush these young cats to the map
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| And how do I get mines to sound so phat
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| We take time I scrutinise every line
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| You spendin' my cash you better find every dime
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| One more time I spit lyrics like these
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| The soul by the glass rock shows overseas
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| I tell you cats this I be swingin the fish
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| You know the beats still bang and the lyrics is crisp
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| Ey yo |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Gunz Still Hot , by - Rasco. Song from the album Rasco Presents: 20,000 Leagues Under The Streets Volume 1, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп