The Best Out

(feat. Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40-Cal)

[Intro:]

Hell Rell

Okay,okay,okay

yes sir

Hell Rell,

J R Writer(Forty)

This is how we do it

I am one of a kind(yeah)

Its now or never nigga

Times up muthafucka

Lets do this

[Hell Rell:]

Ayo I stop paying for coke, get bricks on the muscle

Gorillas on they bullshit welcome to the jungle

Fiends get served in the hallway, welcome to the hustle

Where bitches do anything for a hit of that glass dick,

When Im outta town, nothing less than a half brick,

One-Sixty on the dash nothing less than a fast whip,

I floss when its sunny, got money for a rainy day,

in the dope spot a few blocks from where the Yankees play,

Man Im heavy in that BX borough, we aint gotta front for nobody,

we just through, and Im sittin on an arsenal, rockets and the missiles,

took my advance and got my strip poppin with them nickels.

And when Im in ya neighborhood, you gotta go high,

deliver bullets to ya door like a domino pies nigga,

say hello to my little friend like scarface,

I pull that fuckin rifle right out at the target

[Chorus:]

Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out

Jones the kuffe smacker, he bringing them techs out

sporty-style, Forty Cal, he bringing corvettes out

Bezel the Beast but I still show you what fresh bout

you know who shavin the grams, forty-k on the hand

kill a nigga, what more can I say about Cam,

J R the Writer of writers and Santana,

back like cooked crack

he even supplying suppliers

[JR Writer:]

Dipset, lets do it man

The type that im tighter, tight cause im writer

write cause im nicer, site for the lifers

knifes in the cipher, writers a viper,

listen this is butter,

even ringling brothers say i got the eye of the tiger

before i met killa cam, i was dealing killa grams

i mean killer grams, throws a tan, fill a pan

recorded in the hole, where you couldn't chill or stand

no booth, microphone hangin off the ceiling fan

mass million fan sittin in the belly hilton

watch how i heavy kills him, bessey,chevy,desi fill em

but i still aint break a sweat, yes Im chillin,

Veet wong, seat wrong, tito gonna bet the building

I been grind to lean, sniff lines for fiends,

grams chopped, tan rock, I pitch lima beans

Piff grind was mean, had em dumb stuck,

so when i say uncut, i dont mean behind the scenes

[Chorus]

[40 Cal:]

Yo Im a NY Gee like Jeremy Shockey,

come through drop my coupe like i meant to be sloppy

I got DJ's kickin karate,

cause they through my wax on

take your wax off like Mr.Miaki

Pimpin, Im cocky, I slap your broad on the cheek

and send her home barefooted, you massaging her feet

you probably go down on a freak, your hardly a meat

but we aint mad cause your proving, you are what you eat

your squadron is weak, speak and get a broken something

we the plate in ya grill like a toaster over, fuck it

they even got dojas frontin, shakin your cola

only time your coke was bubbling cousin

Cal get weight wit no problemo

ride around ya block sellin out the car window

and ya moms been know, that I chop rocks

that make your father cop like Carl Winslow