Phonte - Clap sh** Up lyrics

[Verse 1: Torae] Want to hear my old sh**, buy my old album If you really love it, why I only sold thousands? By the grace of God, I made it out of housing But I'm still Coney Isl styling Wild as a stallion and co*ky, had to go Rambo to get my wrists rocky Cheddar drenched broccoli That's what's on my pallet in my wallet Wardrobe was war mode then I got a stylist Now you want to smile, miss? Miss me On the Hardwood where the Knicks be, flick it up, Melo drop 60 Shifty, low down gritty and I'm just doing this ‘til my city is the sh** again Dropped Barrel Brothers, it was notable “Make You A Believer”, my verse ain't get a quotable, so f** it, I'm over you No f** it, I'm overdue, none of y'all better Bar for bar, Line for line, to the letter I came from EBT, made it on to BET FUSE, MTV, MP3 Vinyl and CD, all off the P-E-N Now it's 6 days on SXM And I'm just getting started, you could hit the target Or fill out applications for Target You on one, I'm off it, probably want to forfeit How you ‘pposed to score vs Tor and not want sh**? Aw sh**, I'm still beasting the bars, flow sh** Malik and Jamal Still bodying every beat that I'm on Any street that I'm on, I'm a sight still Shine like a million dollar light bill Even Bun B know I'm type trill, type ill, might steal your misses Treat it like a four-course meal and do the dishes Scratch off my wish list, add to my “f** it” list Name an MC that can f** with this Probably had to add to your bucket list, bucket this, blam That's the only way you could body me, fam Pardon me, damn, I got to go Brought in Tigallo to clap sh** up some more [Verse 2: Phonte] Me and my man's on a war tour But the crowd screaming for more Tor And Tigallo on the a**ist, he's the orator You can count on just like a scoreboard But what the f** you keeping score for When the L is imminent Scrimmaging against you effeminate n***as in boy shorts Kitten heel raps scratching up the floor boards In a top hat, you rap n***as is Boy George I attack tracks with more force And more anger than a gangster in a Russian divorce court Mad ‘cause his wife is going after his stored Porsche So she can make some more [borscht] Then he really want to call her a bi-, but if you call her a bi- The judge gon' tell him to ease up, poor sport Respect my mind I testify, but on the track Your favorite rapper will get left behind Like he got an F in a core course Not here to lollygag, I specialize in bodybags And if we in the streets, motherf** an autograph The only signature that I need is 4 4 So I can run amok, I just lay low in the buck, I Don't really claim to be a tough guy but never been the shook type Last name, Look Like, first name, f** I Raised in the Marley Marl era, so you better call Saul And tell Saul to call pallbearers Just a little Tigallo will make it all better So f** the radio stations and all the call letters Cause my rhymes commodities go off like IED's Lines go over your head and stay there like the sword of Damocles Peace to Skyzoo, Oddisee And plus the old school, the Hercs, the Bams, and the Toddy Tees When I become a legend, just acknowledge me fam Pardon me, damn, I got to go Y'all clap sh** up, I give it a standing O