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Gossip
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DJ Storm
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1
I hate gossip,
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And I don't walk around looking for it, you know?
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But yesterday it seemed to just wander until it found me,
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You know like,
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Gossip found me
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Then why don't you just provin' it
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How? You don't know how to prove it?,
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Well, what you just do is.
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Stop, hatin' on a nigga
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That is a weak emotion
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The lady of a nigga
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And you could get tipped
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Like ya waitin' on a nigga,
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Put a body bag and an apron on a nigga
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I give my all behind the mic,
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But you could never see, if you sit behind the light
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You don't have to pick me, to win the title fight
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But I'm a wear that championship belt so tight
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And if I'm wrong, there is no right
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And if I'm wrong, there is no white
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I'm tryna be po-lite,
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but you bitches in my hair like the fucking Po-lice
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My flow is rare, these other rappers nice,
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These other rappers bark,
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Some of em' even bite
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But I'm much more bright
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I give the game sight
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So before you dim the light you just might, might, wanna
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Think it over (think it over) ooh
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Think it over (think it over) baby baby
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Stop, analyzin' critacizin',
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You should realize what I am and start epidamizin'
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Legitimate, I got the heart of the biggest lion
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I'm confident like fuck 'em all pull out my dick and ride it
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My flow sick, so sick, it's like my shit is dyin'
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It rains a lot in my city, because my citys cryin'
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because my citys dyin'
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But I emerge from all of that, I am a livin pio-neer, sighin'
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Fear God, not them
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Steer my Robin Coupe through the streets of the booth and
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Soo-woo
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And, then I leek a tub in the boot, I leave a blood bath,
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Sorry there's a tub in the boot, now where the drugs at?
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I'm twisted like the strings on a shoe
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No nigga fuck that
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I'm twisted like the strings on a boot,
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Now where New Orleans at?
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I feel hip hop stole me like a bus pass
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So in your possession, I, I must ask
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Hey, haven't I been good to you? (Think it over)
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Tell me, haven't I been sweet to you?
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Drag my name through the mud
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I come out clean
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Cast away stones
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I won't even blink
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A gun is not a math problem,
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I won't even think
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Just leave you dead like the meat under my sink
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Don't believe in me
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Don't believe me
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I've graduated from hungry,
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And made it to greedy
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My flow is like pasta
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Take it and eat it
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But I'm a need cheese if I'm bakin' a ziti
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You niggas want beef?
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I want a steak in the weed B
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Lost in Amsterdam or Jamaica where weed be
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Hard body nigga, takin' it easy
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All about my paper, bout my paper like Eazy
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Why do rappers, lot of rappers, lot of fans, lot of rappers, lot of rappers
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Lie like actin', cut the motherfuckin' cameras
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Cut the check, nigga fuck your pops
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And make it out to Mr. Hip Hop
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I'm not dead, I'm alive
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And I ain't dead I'm alive
"God Favored Me "HEZEKIAH WALKER LYRICS
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