The Rat Pack (feat. Maylay & Roscoe)

Who is it? (Yo, my name is King Tee)

Are you ready, muthafucka? (I'm ready!)

(Let's get together and bring on the indubitably soulful)

Oh, I made a mistake, errors like these must be handled smoothly

This is the mark of a professional

All rise for the most honorable!

I salute! One of the G's in this West Coast rap shit!

All stand for my muthafuckin', say his name!

King Tee, what's crackin'?

The scene sets in the smoke filled room

And all the rottweilers hollerin' at the Moon

Someone's comin', why they carry diamonds on his jewels?

The Rebirth of the Cool

Finally resurrected with the game of life profected

The strain on my voice get sloiced on the record transmittin'

That n*gga takes a blow and keeps tickin'

The hot pimpin', ballin' n*gga from the licks and

Now, listen, if you frontin' back in your Coup

Rollin' round yo' neighborhood, finna hit the loop

Just react, throw yo' neighborhood like that

Whoever said trip gets stripped off the map

Take precautions when you at that light

Lungs coughin' off the herb, mackin' at them hoes on the curb

Bump this! Now you're feelin' bossed up, ain't ya?

My name is King Tee, I'd like to introduce you to some fuckin

Low ridin', West Coast ridin'

Next up, the West nics comin'

Maylay, what's crackin' nigga?

I ain't got time for groups and cahoots with the shenanigans

My troops shootin', blow your roof with the cannons, man

Damagin' like the doctor say when examinin'

Notifies next of kin and all they bandana friends

Ol' E and Hennessy, not Cristal sippin'

That's for all the G's I be pistol spittin'

Mental gettin' like sit down, listen

Raised 'round niggas from the big house, prison

So I'm intended in when observin' the businesses

And the difference is I ain't lookin' suspicious to the witnesses

Elite in the streets keep me free from sentences

'Bout my E and G's and leanin' in with the emphasis

Keep my drift, keep that bullsh*t from 'round me

Really with it and did it, that's full in the County

Jumped bail with the quickness that I pull from the bounties

I was hood when they found me, that's West Coast shit

Low, low shit

Stuck 'em wit it, buck 'em wit it, ain't nobody fuckin' wit it

Crips, Bloods, Vatos

Make way for my lil nigga, Roscoe!

Bringin' destruction, chaotic, melodic structure

Product of pure eruption and corrupt production

Me! Hard to the pack and sharp as a tack

And needles, syringes are poison, just some weed in the Pen'

Henny and Jack to bring a little memory back

Semis and Macs, the reason all my enemies scat

My big homie Crazy Toones told me, speak from within

And let these pus*y muthaf*ckas get a dose of my rage

As if I cut my wrists open and let 'em drip on the page

I be like in every single lyric I say

I be so scientifically accurate with my literature

Precision is very necessary in my position

West Coast custom music, presidential

From the inner city slums to the residentials

Check my rep-adentials, nigga, we countin'?

Rhyme essentials, Vietnam sentinels