Ea$y Money - KOTD Cypher Series Vol. 3 lyrics

[Verse 1: Chilla Jones] Yo why you ain't bringing Boss to the card? They want the lowdown The wanna see Jones crown holding down the whole town f** it, I'ma put on a show now, cause I'm Premier with the Terms so Watch How It Go Down My shorty looking like a brown skin Rita Ora She don't f** with you n***as and you can read her aura If I ain't writing then I'm freeing for ya Making a name from off the head lines like we reporters My men stroll (menstrual) on your block and pop ratchets Nothing cramps our style more than cop badges Pussies bleed at they pad where they got stashes We might all peel, duck if something hot flashes Got to prove I'm the best period I would've put [?] in a box, dead serious Just curious, who gon' try hurting me? I make 'em lay sick (Lasik) with the beam that's eye surgery [Verse 2: Ea$y Money] Ayo I woke up from a long night, breakfast in the bed Shorty mad cause I made her strip naked just for head I'm a wild motherf**er, reckless on the reg' Not a star, but in my hood, definitely a celeb The talk of the town, the topic of the gossip Pretty much they just could not get off of my dick They loving my sh** but cannot fix they lips to tell you sh** is preposterously obnoxious They know, never to pop sh** because of my clip Pop quick, leave you hospice when the shot's spit When it comes to spitting this hot sh** I cannot quick Bars on bars like I stocked up on some chocolate S.T. the f**ing squad, n***a we got dumb guns Find them everywhere like, "Oh sh**, where that come from?" Grind 7-8 where I come from They ain't never sonned son, son son, we the one's they run from So let's take it back to my battle days Hoping for anyone to take a swing at me, I'm like the batting cage f** all the gats you blaze and all your accolades f** all the stacks you raise, let's hear the raps you made Got fire for any track I blaze Rappers, I line 'em up like a Saturday, they dropping the fattest J's sh** make you like fat as Jay Take a sip of the Henny, slap your mother and blow your dad away n***as is mad at me, but they ain't acting craz' Give 'em the clip and in broad day, it's not a matinee How all these cats amaze, like "Yo, don't I know you from elementary school?" "Son go thataway" [Verse 3: B-Magic] n***as thinking they spittas until they witness the greatest who ever did it I'm k**ing n***as, forget it k**ing n***as and b**hes, this is lyrical fitness You with it? You want it? See Heaven? Here is your ticket The sickest, the Paid In Full Rico & Mitch-ing I did a lot of work in the sh** and I need a**istance Stick your nose in this bullsh**, who you pimping? The one who brought the heat to the kitchen, homie I'm sizzling Yeah, so sick I hate medicine Talking how you stacking these Benji's but make Jeffersons Six shots don't do it? Then take seven then You drive then I squeeze in your whip like eight Mexicans Popping these clips I ain't editing The heat blow, I meant toast (Mentos) it ain't peppermint When I say "Late night" it ain't Letterman Motherf**er listen what I'm telling 'em [Verse 4: Termanology] Brown paper bully moving off the books We all some crooks, came up on a monster jooks Third grade started recruiting, the youngins I was polluting Got me in a damn shooting, throwing bullets like Cam Newton Paid your fingernails red if I see your hands moving Couple bands, that'll get your whole family executed Crooked cops went to scanners, they looking to pop hammers Take a good man down and lock him up in the slammer And I ain't scared of you rap k**ers with fake cannons Acting like you Bruce Banner but walking like Bruce Jenner Run up on yo' a** with the tool, Tim Taylor Jean Claude Van Damme, body slam your nana My special ed teacher told me, I'm the man with grammar I'm like 'Pac, spitting on 'em but on candid camera 'Ology