Ill Figures - Kook G Rap, M.O.P., Raekwon

I want people to be able to understand

Yo, anybody can rhyme, you know what I’m saying

But it’s what you saying that makes a person know about you

Know what I’m saying, you know the type of person you is

So it’s like really I’m just more of just

Being a street narrator, aiyo, what up, famo?

Reefer lit, love hip hop, the gangstas got me like the broccoli

Brooklyn baby cooling at a swat meet

Real niggas wanna meet me, ladies wanna eat me

Money clean Mercedes claim, baby beat me

Love getting dressed up, sweats and techs

Ride around the hood, good, getting Gotti respect

Hand is golden, an OG rolling and holding, yo

Fresh kicks, soft leather, pockets is swollen

Let my jam hit your tape deck, it’s straight up and made up

For every real nigga with his gun on him, hate up

Flying through the city nights, new flights

Blue ice, hundred thousand in a Nike bag, license

Drug shop, I’m sorry, Atari in the Ferrari

Next see the Lex A Shallah, La Tampa

Eating yo, all of us, scamma gangstas

You know we honor, tip the kangol, cooling in the brown vengos

I have never, giving up on a mission

That’s against my honor

Duke, let me warn you, my niggas crip up

Them young boys’ll run up on you, shoot your whip up

Brooklyn, nigga, beg for you life and my Staten Island homeys

Lay your ass down on 'Glaciers of Ice'

Sidewalk executives, live the street life consecutive

We built for this, go for your gun

My prospective is, another day in the life, of money and drugs

Big hammers and slugs can get ugly as fuck

From the chest to your man Danze

Staten Island, said what up, yo

The homey ODB said what up, though

We got the Chef on deck as if you didn’t know

It’s sharp as fuck, Wu, that’s what up

Pack it up, wanna rap, wanna rock, what up?

Wanna pop, get up, fuck around and get your block hit up

Bring your team and we’ll box 'em up, think MOP is not what up

It seems I’m a bit late here

Don’t worry, these men are all gonna die

See from the side where it slum at, dum at, rum at

Cognac, combat, contact, contrast

Crom’s packing out like Beyonce back

She bang out a song like the Fonz back

Bigger things, bring the slangs, slicker than the sharpest pen

Nigga here, combat, sweet dick Willie T, Rudy Ray Moore game

Woodgrain all in the board reigns, before rain flooded

Like storm drains, boss man, bundling raw 'caine

Fours bang, neighborhood war games

Get your weight up, you looking anorexic

Posted on the block proper with the hammer vested

Bitch came with empty hands, that’s the hand she left with

Thirsty ass with the water and it sounded desperate

Break a white an hour, based it forty grand invested

Live within the third rail, you know the man electric

Shit was like the third world until I handle metrics, that next shit