Lyrics Don't Be Scared - Styles P, The Bull Pen

Don't Be Scared

If I say so myself, we the best
When the lead pop, it’s headshots, you don’t need a vest
D-Block, LOX, we don’t see the rest
My blade cut a thousand niggas, that’s a key of flesh
You either (-) or (-) squeeze the TECs
I blow a smoke with the Ghost, bars speakin' death
I keep her wet, straight cash, yo, I’m 'bout paper
Pay (-) bars, every line another (-)
Bullpen style, kill you now, rhyme later
I clip from a block away, nine with the laser
They can hate us, but they know they can’t never play us
We heat-sprayers, plus you know the streets made us
Live life to the fullest because death is waitin'
Too wild of an animal for domesticatin'
Get a room full of rabbits and I’m defecatin'
Fully-loaded gun, no hesitatin'
I heard your gangsta rapper name resonatin'
We don’t believe you, you’ll never make it
Discipline — the term meant dedicated
Educated, actin' on medicated
Weed high, liquor high, drug dealers, stick-up guys
LOX, Wise Guys Enterprise
You ain’t got to cop it, we got you, you could rent a pie
God, forgive me for contributin' in genocide
The cranberry Beamer, MAC-10 and the nina
Smokin', visions of Mecca and Madīnah
Mobster, kill you, send a fixer and a cleaner
You look scared, lil' nigga
Don’t start hangin' 'round here, lil' nigga
This shit’ll get you the chair, lil' nigga
We makin' ourself clear, lil' nigga
Nigga, we in here, it’s me and (-), lodge 'em out the bullpen
Remember gettin' processed, sittin' in that bullpen
Thinkin' to myself, 'If niggas rattin' and some bullshit
I’m comin' home dumpin' out that clappin'-up-your-hood shit'
I had dreams of gettin' hood rich
This year, approachin' six figures, life good, bitch
And I admit, yeah, I love fuckin' a hood bitch
Give her good dick, she ridin' out with that wood grip
The front page of them tabloids
About paper, known for movin' grams and mad toys
Real nigga never back down, quit the fight
I lose, I’m like (-) when he told (-), 'Hit the lights'
Speak the truth, know these frontin' niggas can’t stand facts
Pops taught me Santa Clause wore a Klansman’s hat
And he rolled through the night like the Klu Klux
So I flipped Os of the white for a few bucks
Yeah, I guess I see what they can’t
Do what they won’t, then have what they don’t
Ride to work raw, where the work, y’all, I sit and curse, y’all
Lodge the bullpens, Clayton Kershaw
Lookouts in the buildin', play the first floor
Yeah, it’s D-Block, nigga, we come with the pain
Gonna cause straightjackets and shackles and chains
If it’s drama, come and get you, ain’t callin' your name
We roll up on you like them niggas that howl in pain