The Chopper (feat. Jon Connor Ransom)

I got a vendetta, who make hits? My hands better

The flow is money like I wet up the bank teller

The tattle tellers tell us we lock it, that's being modest

Cause I'm a motherfucker, your momma is in the bondage

I promise I bomb it, drunk with powerless Gin and Tonic

Where I'm from niggas'll have you singing like Harry Connick

So fake thug shit and that drug shit, homie, stop it

I'm from where niggas get popped and hold that dope in the sockets

This real shit we deal with and ignorance

There is an illness no pill could heal, nigga feel this

What can you tell us? We se death up out the window

Our friends go just as fast as the wind blows

We wishing we could be as happy as the Winslows

The pain of my kinfolks and every pen stroke

Fly, fly, fly, fly city

And I'mma hold it down til God come and get me

Look, this for the people who think it's easy enough

They say pound the pavement, shit, we beating it up

Get rock for bread cause niggas ain't eating enough

In the club deep as the fuck every weekend heating it up

I could tell you what the news like

Niggas you knew on the tube the past two nights

Here there ain't no such thing as do right, just move right

Cause half the niggas in the hood got two strikes

Play your position, overpopulated with liquor stores

The liquor pours to a drunk mind that think ''what am I living for?''

You drowning by the conditions that we are surrounded by

The shit that we hate is the shit that we bounded by

See truth is when somebody stop breathing

Not the shit rappers do, I mean really, somebody leave it

My neighborhood it be safer to pack a vest

Unless you think your momma look good in that black dress

This Connor

Lyrically I cause a holocaust when bottles toss, it's Molotovs

Mob hits, niggas is screaming ''he shot the boss''

While I'm drunk as hell laughing, stumbling out the court

They dumping them by the park, that's something I'm not involved

The sweet sounds of the street serenade for lack of a better phrase

It's sour so we're asking for better days

The power of the black that was led astray

Blasting the lead away, cemetaries packing the dead away

The mind of a lost soldier before closure

My poor shoulders carry the weight of four boulders

Life's kinda rocky like Sly before Cobra

So call Oprah, take a piss on that whore's sofa

Everybody's balling, but Ran won't cross over

The more money, the more snakes, the more vultures

They talk funny, they all fakes, I'm all focused

My prognosis is high doses, hitting them up like Pac wrote this

These cockroaches scurry around when the lights off

I give 'em a thriller as soon as the mic's on

Tyson, [?] tattoos cover his pythons

Icon, a seat on the throne, that's what's my sight's on

Controlling the heat, they say I'm like 'Bron

But I ignite bombs, verbal abortion, serving 'em portions

Of death, ain't no rest in peace sleep, turn in your coffin

And I was turned to an orphan, I don't pay a preacher

Fuck religion, I go into your church and burn up the offerings

Motherfuckers, so what you offering?

I only talk money, my nigga, so what you talking?

See one time so I hold my gun

A drunk mind speaks a sober tongue so you supposed to run

Exerminator with a hard drive of

Plans to save the game, but never return the data

I'm gone