Motive - Live at the BBQ lyrics

[Apathy] Ap ain't merciful Shoot up your convertible Lay your body flat while your soul goes vertical Versatile, impossible to pigeon hole Gettin' doe, spittin' flows From complex text to pimpin' hoes That's why your girlfriend feel me man It's alarmin' how charmin' I really am Got a Glock that'll Rock like a Band So this gun in my right hand is named Steely Dan Steal the show, steal hoes, steal your fans Steal my flow? We'll hang you from ceiling fans Your little ho tryin' to front like she's hard to get off? Tell that finger lickin' chicken bring the barbecue sauce [Motive] Ayo I stay clean Rake Doe, lay low with a full clip My yayo fiends on payroll get smacked over bullsh** Motive, notice I never fall victim to no one The truth that'll f** tracks in the booth with a Trojan Respect due cause whole crew, is professionals Quickly show a n***a what a knife in the chest will do While y'all front, still spittin' the same The only time y'all k** somethin' is on a video game Cause any beef we're gonna ride at all cost Have you shot in your cars Have you sittin' +Sideways+ like Paul Wall Chopped and Screwed up, cause you n***as do s** That's why your girls chained to our sticks like nunchucks [Ryu] You got a d**h wish I'm the Fresh Prince of tech clips You gotta respect it The west died I came in Resurrected the west side like Game did You ain't sh** I came with a gang that's brain dead And walk around talkin' to they selves like Rain Man My game plan is thick Your dames on my dick All my girlfriends got name tags that all say "b**h" Y'all can't really spit Rip tracks, I spit crack Click chrome and finish off cliques like six packs S.O.B./be the first s**er to mouth off I call Celph up tell him to bring me the cow prod And that's all (AND THAT'S ALL!) [Celph Titled] Don't ask me for nothin' Ask me for somethin' Mega-Ton bombs strapped to my chest Don't even ask if I'm buggin' Warlord from the dark star All my dogs bark paw Talk hard and get hit by a parked car Swimmin' where the sharks are Yes I'm one guy That won't speak when I'm holdin' heat cause I'm gun shy You're damn right that I'm a studio gangster Bring the Mac-11 to your mix down and shoot the place up Your b**h get face f**ed Bustin' on her Clairol Deep throatin' so far she coughin' up hairballs Disregard the law f** a gun ban I got a group of musicians with AKs that's my gun band Chorus: See it's like that y'all (that y'all) That y'all (that y'all) [x6] And that's all! [Tak] You know me homie I'm a tax a million cats Till they can't rap Get the cash that feelin' 'em yeah They call him Tak with a gla** of Guinness To rock city blocks And bringin' 'em +Back To The Grill+ again The Demi-G.O.D.s We take 'em a little higher Than California bud when we smoke trees Tryin' to walk is like Calypso with broke knees With half of your body slain with your brain in your goatee Oww, that's on S.O.B Plus I carry a knife cause I'm a sick dope fiend Got 'em panickin', damn it cause the bandit has spoken Yeah, it don't take much to bust a cantaloupe open b**h Chorus