Montana Of 300 - Chiraq Vs NY lyrics

[Verse] They never thought it would happen this rappin’ stuff Was facing cases because I got caught with gats and stuff My haters thought I wouldn’t elevate from that trappin’ stuff And f** twelve they want me back in the back with cuffs God knows my needs that’s why I never ask for much I work for mine I swear I never had good luck My past was rough, my moms was high my dad was drunk Start baggin’ up, I used to feed my mattress bucks Rap god a.k.a. hip hop’s asthma pump Don’t pa** I’m clutch I’m gladiator Maximus About my bills when I spit like I’m Daffy Duck Expose the truth then turn and tell your pastor, “church” They want beef until I give ’em what they askin’ for They ratchet tucked Bruce Wayne the way we maskin’ up We ride with straps you n***as better fasten up I keep the pump in my whip like I’m ga**in’ up That’s big sticks when we slide and we don’t pa** the puck The only time they want smoke is when you pa** the blunt We on your lawn with them choppas like your gra** gettin’ cut I blast, I bust, you die you just got whacked and touched Your b**h in heat She say she want me bad as f** The head was good Deep throat like a giraffe and stuff She gagged and s**ed b**h damn near made me crash my truck The a** was pumped, I did my thing I smashed, I f**ed And you ain’t winning if you spendin’ more than stackin’ up If you ain’t mastering the math of your cash, you’ll flunk I’m FGE, them Titans scared to clash with us I’m in my bag b**h don’t ever think I’m packin’ up Way before the rappin’ b**h I was trappin’ I used to touch bands I got to that bag from the floor just like a dustpan How is there so much creativity up in one man? Giving kids food for their thoughts I feel like a lunch man n***as spent their last on a pair of shoes with a jumpman Feeling like a mill when he walk, he must be a Bucks fan And I’m no longer stuffing pounds in the duffle, son I stay on you ’cause I care to see you smile and I love you If you don’t add to the big picture you won’t value the puzzle Please teach your kids that life is awesome [!] And if they spend more than they stack Then they won’t value the hustle If you can’t nip sh** in the bud and push then how you the muscle Huh? Boss sh**, call up my hitters and tell ’em tell fam Hop out, put that strap to his head like he Quailman Replace the hammers used and then pay him after they nail fam What you know about k**ers comin’ dressed as a mailman My homie told me I really don’t think they ready, fam I bet he drop when I roll up on him just like the jelly, fam We cuttin’ I put that on my blood just like a band-aid We comin’ ’round that b**h blowing at you faster than fan blades See, I just wanna see every one of my mans paid Mama in the mansion relaxing, don’t need a damn thing Drinkin’ lemonade with her feet up under the damn shade n***as didn’t wanna believe me until them bands came Knowing when I go in I’m known to go on a rampage Madness written all over they faces like Macho Man shades It’s like, ever since I got my bag right (woo!) All these b**hes wanna act nice It’s money over b**hes I’m pimpin’ ’em like a Cadillac b**hes know I’m lit yeah I got ’em drippin’ like candle wax Thinkin’ ’bout the top, reachin’ for my belt like a ladder match He say he want smoke plus his b**h on my pipe, I had to crack Rap god, baby, my lyrics could cure cataracts Arsonal just said, “n***as lucky that you don’t battle rap” The fake be flippin’ sides for that money just like an acrobat The real ones gonna ride through them ups and downs Like a camel’s back One life in God’s house Ain’t no second life where the attic at From the struggle I had to grind to get out my habitat Orange and green buds by the pound It’s looking like Apple Jacks Four hundred forty-eight When I package that, clients back to back Matter of fact, only you p**y n***as get mad at facts I put that on my sons it ain’t really nothin’ to have you whacked If Kris Kross, he can get thirty up out they Daddy Mac That’s thirty for you haters, I’m shooting tell ’em come hack-a-Shaq Pictures with my kids in my cribs ain’t no need to caption that Ain’t nothin’ like the hugs from your cubs When they know they daddy back My daughter mother strapped, .22 in that Gucci fanny pack Plus I dropped a bag on her kicks, n***a that’s hacky sack G-O-D my chauffeur he opened that damned door for us Labels ain’t controllin’ us, ballin’ like no one’s holdin’ us Every line’s potent that’s why they come get they dope from us And this is not a brothel, I promise you ain’t no hoe in us Big choppas, takin’ off tops, that’s can openers The bullets in my clip, yellin’, “p**y come get a load of us” Teflon in my jacket, I’m Spawn with that ratchet Put pawns in a casket, who wants to get it crackin’? I’m a hundred like Wilt, tell your n***a he ain’t built If he act rowdy I’ma pipe her, then that n***a gettin’ k**ed Skrrt off up in traffic b**h I’m smooth like silk [!] what came out that .40 cal wasn’t milk Know your part, go home if you ain’t goin’ hard The coldest art that’s ripping rappers’ souls apart Came from the bottom I ain’t going back like Rosa Parks These other rappers don’t compare to me like Noah’s Ark