lirik lagu illmac – raising the bar (#8)
[verse 1: geechi gotti]
dreams of making it big and getting rich n-gga
f-ck handouts dog, we taking risks n-gga
and if i like yo’ watch i take ya’ wrist n-gga
paid in full, been getting it, since the mitch n-gga
quick trigger, headshots and i don’t miss n-gga
rap don’t work i’m back to the hood, like i miss n-ggas
couple bottles, b-tches and weed, so we can twist n-gga
said don’t use my hood as a crutch, but i’m a crip n-gga
look she don’t suck d-ck but she a sack-chaser
you ain’t catch that, relax, come back and ask later
i want that kellerman dough, i’m talking max paper
how you claiming you so seasoned but still you lack flavor?
like a basketball team without a black player
you plain-balling, you could miss me with the name-calling
i drop knowledge, headshots a’ have his brain falling
i seen n-ggas get k!lled because they move wrong
that’s ya’ b-tch, you get locked, i bet she move on
on to the next like swizz on the hook
a hundred years let’s see who put a hundred on his books
look at me now my n-gga, ’cause this how hunger look
they lack ingredients don’t tell me how the f-ck they cook
trash rappers, don’t compare me to them gas rappers
whole image see-through like a saran rapper
these suckas be lying for they approval now
there go a gun, there go ya’ man, you gotta prove it now
i’m mr. top tier from the proving ground
now chill jones, y’all gon’ make me have to k!ll jones
f-ck ya’ milestones, i’m out here moving real stones
went from brick houses, to them penthouses
translation from the big house to some big houses
n-ggas kick it with snitches, just to get ounces
that don’t make you a rat, but y’all some big mouses
that’s mickey sh-t, i rich roll like a 60 crip
but i’m from nutty and the nine got a 50 clip
i get rich or die trying like 50 cent
with two .25’s to ya’ dome, i have 50 sent
[verse 2: illmac]
i hear ’em talking and they p-ssy out
i let them racks speak for me, got a good account
my credit good, that cootchie money so, that’s where i’ma put my mouth
treat it like we beefing, on sight mm, i’ma knock the p-ssy out
signing everybody, ya’ flow fire, i’ma put it out
they be like ‘praise god,’ i be like ‘good looking out’
god complex, excuse me if i’m feeling holy
ain’t really god i’m only kidding that’s the lil’ homie
a little cuckoo turn ya’ noodle into minestrone
been running choo-choo on your boo-boo while i’m sipping codeine
twisting og in a fronto leaf she tryna mistletoe me
hit the rock bottom of the p-ss’, call the b-tch jabroni
big cojones sipping 40s, been in corners with my brodies
from the top row, sock it to me like the chick mick foley
she into role play, i’m just tryna switch the rollie
told her my time’s expensive, quit tryna kenneth cole me
who’s fake and who’s real, lately who can tell
get a roman catholic open casket, tell ’em suit yourself
leaders never give orders he wouldn’t do himself
f-ck it tell ’em they could get the hands free, i bluetooth the cell
my bazooka turn beluga whales into tuna melts
nooses out of gucci belts
human t–th, puka sh-lls
weed charge, locked up, now i know how boosie felt
paint erase this pig in blackface, watch him shoot himself
black shades, hat low, max payne, gat blow
act strange, mad broke, rap game’s, van gogh
paint a picture for you hold up, nah, nah f-ck a canvas
adjust your palace we’ll brush it off if you brushing past us
junior high made a rowdy ninth-grader
swung first time i was pressed, probably saved some me fights later
it was free lunch, when nothing that i wear’s new
rocking hand-me-downs and p-ss ’em down like family heirlooms
top ramen dry, that’s commissary felon charge
sipping mama’s kool-aid out of tom and jerry jelly jars
i remember playing pogs, bully tried to jack me choked him
swung until my hands are broken
‘fore i got his slammer stolen
i remember rice and spam, i ain’t talking bad promotion
dropped outta high school, don’t put me in a cl-ss with no one
used to not having sh-t, only thing i lack’s emotion
f-ck the world, pack a trojan, hustle till my casket’s open
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