Copywrite - Get Busy lyrics

[Verse 1] Ladies and gentlemen, you ain't gotta stay in your element My staff chuckles while bra** knuckles scraping your melanin You claiming it was an accident, pay me a settlement You saying you wasn't having it, I gave it, you yelling, "Quit!" Oh, it's on the low though? I stuff cigars with stuff from jars Above the stars, M.P., they ain't heard drums this hard I shoot my load ten feet and they asking if I ever thought I'd come this far Look, I knew I'd do it, the question is who was stupid to mess with this Who was losing a second, this music scooped and the weapon is To his crew and the message is, "Don't push me" You're so p**y that you're oozing with estrogen Straightjacket tightened by my psycho ward And he straight up forgot to lace up my Michael Jordans I don't write no chorus, my alterego writes those for us f** a tree dog, I light whole forests I've got the flows to toast most approachers And got the toes so foes don't approach us Nah, Jakki brought the shotty and a case, check it Liquor'll make em drop Shells quicker than J Records And the crowd's mine, I'll out-rhyme your hood I'm outside with about nine guys, it's good While you peasants crowd by my foot to rhyme when I'm done But that's saying they're trying to get outshined like Suge Look, you pussies either roll eight or one Trying to jump me but still can't, they hate on son They'll get their money jacked, see me in the span of a few years Do sh** till they see me off Jack, Patron, and a few beers Mixture of Big L, Big Pun, and Biggie With an attitude like Jigga so if you come and get me Bring eight people, a spiked bat and a gun to clip me And if I got you for money wait until I'm drunk to hit me, p**y Matter fact, you ain't even a p**y You're what bleeds when the summer's eve cleaning the p**y C.O.P. you freestyle to see no fee I am the C.O. bringing it to you COD Cash on delivery, and no one can do it better, sh** I'm the D-O-C with OCD, spit heat like a Creole feast That's why they be on Pete's dick to the point I don't see my own feet [Hook] I can introduce you to your maker You got a problem with me homeboy, step to me Strap you down and slap you ‘round Yeah I said it [Verse 2] Star sprinter, run any track flash above par [Barlinder] Blow sniffer, jacking coke like a bartender Punchlines till your bar's tender so celebs cars enter And we're shooting stars like Haley's Comet denting car fenders My car's bouncing, got hydraulics and metal toys Yours ride's mind's playing tricks like the Geto Boys Why am I lying? I ain't got the car and I'm unemployed My rent's due in a day and on it I don't have but a coin No pot to piss in or to cop a squat and drop my sh** in Radio off so I can listen to my couch petition Alka Seltzer plop and fizzing from vodka sipping Waking up with a naked s*ut and my boxers missing Hip hop is getting out of control Every coward that flows is a gangster till the powder's out of his nose Man in '95 I thought music was losing its touch Compared to now that was a golden era, who would've thunk? Now this sh** is full of gimmicks, energy, cynics, and critics Who hate one minute then the next want finish your sentence This fake game makes we want to take names With the chrome in hand and take aim like I own this, man [?] But I'm not trying to spend life beneath dirt Or with Shyne and C-Murder I grind til each word's in the mind of each person populating earth Cop the tape and stop the hating jerk [Hook]