Yup, you got the juice now, man


Niggas respect mine (brothers respect mine, brothers respect mien)
Respect mine (brothers respect mine)


Yo, I be, out here, in these streets
While you be, in the bed, under the sheets
I grind hard, regardless, I'm gon' eat
I don't care how many niggas you roll with or how deep
Cause I say one word, now you fast asleep
I rebute rappers, that spread poison
I come in the meet for him, speak words that make born
You in my brainstorm, I sting men that do the innocent wrong
Your sentiments, you imagining vain things
Neglecting me, but I reign king, savagy and wankstas
Is not a part of my main stream, they plain jeans
I'm King Original, Tao Wu Tazine
Solomon darts, vocabulary Nazarines
Come with a sharp sword, I'm justified by all means, back up from my altar
Falsehood niggas become falser
I came back, and stepped out of the sourcer
Respect mines, make me an offer
Or face the 36 Chambers of Torture




The General, Rebel the great, I'm on money like the president face
Next felony's a federal case
New blood, you can never relate
True blood, you can never debate, not in nueve tres
I spit like a deagle with the speed low
Hustle hard, gamble on the game like Pete Rose
Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com
Respect mine, steppin' with the G code
Make a nigga move like cops through the peephole
Manifesto, light it like a techno club
Outside and don't expect no love
Rolling like a west coast thug til the wheels fall off
And I be damned if you step on cause
Brohters respect vets, son is a vet
Henny rap, feel it up on your chest
Green eyes try and smuggle my rep, so upset but you love it to death
Get it in, shits, nothing to Deck, he set




For respect, I empty shots out of this tech
Catch homey at the light, drag him out of his Lex'
On the edge like Q on the ledge, you got the Juice now
I took a pledge to the streets, since it was goosed down
Police move foul, I can move the crowd
Freestyle or bang bang, any rapper shoot him down
Pull the ruger out, from the Hill to the Harbor
Bloomingdale Road, Goonberg, stupid clout
Old school money, get it from my grandad
So I use a nigga face like I punch a sandbag
Ran fats when the van passed
My pants sag, scuffs on my Air Max, blood on my man's rag
Got the homey loc'ing, I'm still Wolfpacking
Looking like Kobe open, just passing
Two 4, numbers I rep
So my hunger for this bread probably hustle to death, yeah

add to
My Songs
Email
Print