Still Grimey – C-Rayz Walz – letras

C-Rayz Walz, Dreddy Kruger, Prodigal Sunn, Sean Price, U-God[U-God]Yo, rated x, smack you off the stage when I’m vexedNo sweat, I crack a cold case of Beck’sGuess whose back, the jack of all trades is nextThe rap cuisine, I crack a raw egg and flexI cave in your chest, this one came from the jetsYeah, the cause and effect, make innocent blood pourThe streets is like the rap game, a daily tug of warFor rich or for poor, or death do us part, niggaz come for test[Chorus: U-God]Still grimey (grimey, grimey)Still slimey (slimey, slimey)Don’t try me (try me, try me)It’s been ten long years, you can’t untie me[Sean Price]Bring fire and Ruck let the heat pourNiggaz like Ruck ‘Fuck you rhyming to this beat for?’Listen, life is like a muthafuckin’ seesawOne minute you’re hot, the next, your rep dropsNone of your biz, fuck around, and run in your cribWife like ‘He ain’t here’, throw some to your wizNiggaz running up on me, til the tre’ pound clickTalking ’bout ‘Ruck, let’s battle’ on some 8 Mile shitI’m like; nigga, my name ain’t B. RabbitIt’s Sean Price, Big Ruckus from busting these ratchetsCall me gay basher, for fucking up these faggotsYa’ll niggaz ain’t nothing, stop fronting, stay passiveYo, pass the dutch, on the left hand sideSean gone til November, stole Wyclef’s rideBob Backlund, car jacking, New Jersey drivingYa’ll niggaz ain’t think about rapping, til you hear me rhyming, oh[Chorus][Prodigal Sunn]I keeps it real in the field, Navy feel on the drillNever stingy with my bills, plenty gravy I spilledRecorded in the history of rap, two inch reelsSeven to ten mills, eleven to twenty hillsRest in peace to my brother Half-A-MilUnnecessary blood spilt, another thug killedMove with the mass appeal, the blast stillFor the Cash Money Click, No Limits and no thrillsMad cuz your hoe, feeling P. Sunzini, give youAs sweet as a kiwi, face it, you not me, niggaLadi dadi, the Gods like to partyWe don’t cause trouble, but we can make you a bodyLadi dadi, the Sunn likes to partyI don’t cause trouble, but I will make you a bodyFlowin’ high in the Mazarati, two with my ninjas beside meLively, floating on some Ducatti’sWith two gellati’s, two hotties, we never sloppyJewelry rocky, Spanish pieces, they call me papiClear fire Bacardi, sobered up like GottiRest in peace to my dog, Shotti, Shotti[Chorus][C-Rayz Walz]On the corner ready to bo’, holding my nutsStanding by my building looking at myself in the truckMy reflections… (still grimey)Oscar the Grouch’s worms (still slimey)I got a jones for Miss Piggy’s ham hineyI can be a bum in the slums, and slam shinyOn every corner, I’m grams, you can find meThe boss of the burners, I fire shots if your nine speakThis is true Manchu, and who you, fams too?Better have they face in the game, like the Blue Man GroupI heard you smell me, I make it funkyRock hard and kick ass like, I hate you donkeysMy oatmeal lumpy like Johnson’s Bumpy, Harlem humptyHungry wolves, pain’s hummer, harbor hungryDumpty, blazing trees, now leave an O.E. presentKnow why the hood feel me, like police presence[Chorus]