Lyrics The Come Up - Twista

The Come Up

Let me take you to the wicked wicked Westside
Where them niggaz carry chrome and the best die
Where we push up in the corners that we fight for
City from the shores breeds gangsters and Vice Lords
Bustin pistols while we runnin from the five-oh
Hit the adversaries up because we drive slow
Oh I’m a killa mayne, standin on these corners
Hustlin for my denim mayne, and if you try to move
Soon as I hear one shot
I’ma let the tec and desert eagle ride non-stop
If I have to I’ll commit a murder just to maintain
Tell me what you thought I’m from a city where they gangbang
And I got that thang thang
Get it however you want it cop a fo’and then split
Hustle hard and work your way up 'til you holdin a brick
Cop an ounce of this 'dro I got the flyest shit in town
Bet you within a week you’ll be able to get a pound
Go ahead and drop you can whip on 24's to get around
Gettin paper make me feel like…
Let me see all of my gangsters come up — in Chi-Town
Let me see all of my hustlers come up — in Brooklyn
Let me see all of my riders come up — in the Bay
Let me see all of my killers come up — in Houston
Let me see all of my bitches come up — in A-T-L
Let me see all of my niggaz come up — M-I-A
Now let me take you to the motherfuckin Southside
City of the chrome, get shot up for standin outside
Don’t talk no shit or you can end up on primetime
My nigga Ty Nitti be holdin down the nine-nine
That’s where the thugs lurks
I done been out there and seen them niggaz put in bloodwork
When I’m in the 100's you can always smell the scent of purple
These niggaz always gettin money in they inner circle
Fuck with 'em they fin’to hurt you;
gotta get they cash on Necessary evil they quick to put the mask on Then they gotta put the mash on;
steady bustin at each other
I take a tool and bust my strap and scream out «Free my brother~!»
Bitch-ass motherfuckers;
I’m about to break 'em out
If they hit me before they get me I’ma take 'em out
If we successful we gon’smoke a blunt and cruise home
Introduce him to his new Charger with no shoes on
'Til the haters move on Fin’to set up shop now, gotsta hold the block down
Gettin paper make me feel like…
Now let me take you to the motherfuckin projects
Where the true thugs, and the elite members of the mob at Know somebody;
better call them out or try to tell them later
When they tell you «Where you from"when they catch you on the elevator
The fiends lurkin, niggaz serve in pissy hallways
Can’t say shit cause they be gettin money all day
Mercedes parked out front, chillin with a hat cocked to the left
In the ride with the glock cocked smokin a blunt
300Z with the Lamborghini do’s and some hoes with a big ol’project booty
And the beat kinda hot but the cops wanna come
To hold the work he got that duty
So they can’t do nothin to me Seventh flo’with the 'dro now, nineteenth flo’by the rocks now
Gettin paper make me feel like…
Yeah, some oh-six shit
For all the real niggaz and bitches to ride to Not none of that ol’lame-ass, metaphoric-ass ol’goofy shit~!
This some of that real shit, that Chi-Town shit
That gangster shit, fool!
Twista bitch…