125 Part 3 (Connections) - Joell Ortiz, Ras Kass, Graph

Bar none

When I spit a bar, I spit a

Hennessy, Hypnotic

Patron, Couroisier

Grey Goose

I grill niggas, spit a barbecue

Committing drive-bys out a grey Coupe

When I start drowning rappers, dawg

It ain’t cute

Till every person in they group turn blue like they Snoop

Watch face blue, but I’m grimey duke

I like most of y’all niggas better in your shiney suits

At the hood, after hours, when I’m on the loose

Cause I hang with troops like Sadaam on the noose

So fuck what y’all trying to pass off as the truth

I done jumped from the earth and touched the Universe’s roof

Crash landed back on planet like meteor

Dust off my white tee and lift Lamborghini doors

I keep me a meaty whore

Trini in bikini, apple martini whore

Y’all niggas is CB4

My niggas in CDC

Bounty hunter ECG

Dipping Newports into PCP

Give a mic to me is UFC on Spike TV

Niggas talk gangsta shit but he ain’t one

Till he see that gun and realize nobody really love you

Like New York on VH1

I’m the ghetto experiment

Pop in at any son

Me and the project, project, projecting objects at anyone

Blackjack bitches, that’s 21

Dare any nigga to be a dollar and see

You want the king of the west then holler at me

Who’s been eating? I haven’t daddy

Just been the booth’s Houdini, working my magic scrappy

Industry jabbing at me

I’m just trying to keep my marriage happy

But the politics and the games driving me crazy like an Arab cabbie

Still I never quit

Def Jam’s president, from up the block, around the corner

Down the street, where I’m selling it

Who said, «Joell is sick»?

Man I’m on the deathbed

I wrote this on the bedspread, with IV in my wrist

I am him

The product of a moms who got high and a father who ain’t say «bye"to them

His family that is

Know that y’all can never break me

Look in my eyes, listen up guys… don’t make me

Only a rookie in the game’s eyes

Been doing this since I was yeeh high

It’s alright to be shook

I will turn the first album into a library book

C’mon let’s skim through the pages in my diary, look

18 I rock those stretchers

19 I dropped a 12 inch

Rawkus Records, that’s when I hooked up with G. Rap

It’s nothing, bang

Y’all heard the streets feedback

At 25 I’m the outcome of everything between that

Y’all know I’m everything y’all want to be

I do the shit you never do

I feel it when you look at me

I’d kill myself if I was you

You

See, but luckily I’m not

I used to run in labels like, «You should fuck with me I’m hot.»

By now I could have sold some mills and showed that I was so for real

While your roster fucked around like Lauren Hill’s

Let me stop, I ain’t hating on nobody

It’s like the whole world is waiting on somebody

They say that I’m the obvious replacement

I just say this shit’s a hobby

Lot of new rappers waiting in the lobby

But I’m coming up

Me and Joell, do it so well

Niggas either want to throw shells or ride on our coattails

Oh well

Go tell someone I’m coming

I’m sonning niggas without touching they mother

There’s no one above me

I told y’all that I was a problem

Rappers started studying me like they could solve it

Listen close

I got a 9 times 5

I pop 3 times 2

Add drama, take away your respect and divide you

In half, for your math I do this til I’m through

Living life, breathing breath, I bring death to your whole crew

I don’t know if there’s a better MC

Some people get better with time, I say the getting better with me

I got, I got my rhymes tight, the streets gave Sha light

Now you see me holding C-Notes like the Chi-Lites

It’s The Present motherfucker

I got one happy soldiers, esse that clappy clappy toaster

That turn you brains into nasty tapioca

Ewwww

Then I hop back on over

To drop autograph while I’m autographing a poster

I’m in the cut like

Chains stashed in a sofa

I’m Hennessy straight, you a pretty ass glass of mimosa

You a bum, I caught you trying to go half on a soda

You make the change, I use the stash in my loafer

So it don’t matter what I pack in a holster

Cause I slash you till I scratch the plaque off the back of your molar

It’ll cut through the back of a boulder

Owwww

Got a pack full of sodas with a bag of explosives

And they clapping them toasters that can detach your back from your shoulders

After I blow your little daughter out the back of her stroller

And the ricochet will blow her back in the stroller

Cause that gat caliber has the motor out the back of a roaster

Vrrrom

Get drunk and try to spaz you joker

Till I punch you in your face and move your back tooth over

I’ll knock 'em down your throat

You gag, you choke up

Then I bet by the time your lungs collapse, you sober

Breathe easy

Back don’t ya

I’m a crack donor

So my tax write off is a crack smoker

Aaaayyyyye

I ain’t battling no one so don’t bring a challenger over

If I wanted a challenger I’d battle my poster

I ain’t never met a thug that my slugs ain’t like

I never met one who lived or walked straight, when they all hit right

Head or the back you parents are attending a mass

Centered around that box wood, lacquered in black

With you you laying stiff in the cushion

While I’m pushing a 'Lac, past the church while your family’s looking

Over your face, me driving over the bridge

With coke in a space sealed by placing a switch

If life is a bitch then she fuck me nice

Boxed up for seven joints now she pregnant, bout to birth me yikes

My first born at least, VS1

My seed cultivating, that love grow out of weed and concealed guns

Triple beam lust

Finger fucking them grams that make twins out of one of my hand

My connect away set me apart

The potential to flood it like when Noah finished building the Ark

Colombian

Moving coke is an art

If Michelangelo was Pablo, Gab Gotcha gotta be Picasso

I rock flows and crush rocks for your nostrils

Clutch glocks that pop when that blow make you hostile

or I unload a clip

And siamese twin your head and the lobby

Silicone tips makes less sizzle

Implants in your chest like fake tits, holes size of your nipples

Nigga

Gab Gotcha. Crown City nigga.