R.I.P. (feat. Bun B)

Late ass nights come from long days

Doin' all the right things in the wrong ways

Doin' all the wrong shit for the right reasons

Sprinklin' midnight game, call it night seasoning

Haters get salty give 'em cholesterol

Trill O.G, mop up the floor with the best of y'all

Then dry that bitch off with the rest of y'all

And catch a flight to Rio de Janero for la festival

Yeah, and that's word to fit a baldy

Ball hard like it's cement inside of my Spalding

And I'll break your face with a no look pass

Now back to your parking lot pimp with yo little hook ass

I use harsh words cause these are hard times

And trill-ass people, nowadays they're such a hard find

So its one eye open if I could keep ‘em

And one on the scope, so if they frontin' I can sleep 'em

Man, my flow is so parabolic

The energy'll blow you over even if you're brolic

Goddamn it, now that's one for the Googlers

That fell sleep on they desk and never step their noodle up

Takin' lames out never been new to us

The hardest part of this shit is figurin' which of you to bust

Then step your weight up like GNC

And R.I.P. to Chris Luda reppin' CNC

Straight G

There's somethin' inside you

It's hard to explain

They're talking about you boy

But you're still the same

There's somethin' inside you

It's hard to explain

They're talking about you boy

But you're still the same

Rest in peace to them niggas who was dead wrong

Toni Braxton to them niggas, that's a sad song

Cry a river Timberlake, the whole industry

Record the whole album in my living room in Italy

Niggas who wasn't feelin' me secretly want a handout

Keep your mouth shut, I can probably help your man out

Drop a new stack all lames get to steppin'

Drop a new track all blogs go to heaven

Kill the web, man these niggas need they hits up

Kiss her neck, add a dime to the tip cup

She is not "slut," fuck a dude who says so

Just because she fuckin' doesn't mean she ain't a lady

Kill the whole stage, I never needed a mic check

Semen on my spacebar, fuckin' tired of Skype sex

Runnin' with a new breed, me and Bun B

This hip-hop nation, that big country

Nigga please! We ain't stop for no one

Wu-Tang Generator name, I'm a shōgun

Wu-Tang Generator name, watch him smoke one

Talk a lot of shit, but none of them will approach him

Gambino got first position, the game is ballet

So graceful; drive, he don't need a valet

So angel: fly as I wanna be

Mercy, somebody show these niggas can't hurt me

Woah

There's somethin' inside you

It's hard to explain

They're talking about you boy

But you're still the same

There's somethin' inside you

It's hard to explain

They're talking about you boy

But you're still the same