Shyheim - No Cups lyrics

[Intro: Shyheim] Lil' Jon, take back your cup, son I'mma smack fire outta one of these n***az Runnin' around with cups and sh**, with they names on it ...got f**in' strips... man, listen It's the kid, n***a, Shyheim, n***a, what? Uh-huh, they f**ed up and let me out This Bottom Up, Brock Bros., King Just, Shaolin [Shyheim] You don't get a cup for that s**er sh** you doing I can tell you never had real drama from the way you moving You easy access, dress up like I work for FedEx Deliver a bomb in a box to your address Now you know you ain't ordered sh**, you still gonna open it Always lookin' for the come up, see, what ya greedy a** hit? Pine casket and some flowers, and your b**h will be f**in' One of my Bottom Up n***az, give and take a couple hours June Lov', with this criminal mentality of ours To eat, sh**, shave, and shower with the culture power You don't get a cup, cuz I said you don't get a cup You not a gang banger, throwin' your record company sign up How come nobody on your team, had a gun, when ya man got bodied Y'all just standin' there, feelin' stupid, lookin' down at his body And if dead n***az could talk, I bet he said, y'all p**y, probably [Chorus: Shyheim] You don't get a cup, for them hub cap spinners You don't get a cup, cuz you don't f** with the winners You don't get a cup, cuz you ain't down with Shaolin You don't get a cup, cuz y'all n***az don't be wildin' You don't get a cup, cuz you ain't from the grain And you don't get a cup, cuz n***az snatched your chain You don't get a cup, cuz you runnin' from me And you don't get a cup, cuz I'm the hottest in the street [Shyheim] How the f** Nick Cannon get a cup? When Nickelodeon kids, don't even get drink Your names written in rhinestone, not diamonds This is for my comrades, with their green cups Starin' mud up on the Island, gettin' counted Dogs in the pound, growlin', hear the moans of the forgotten Mouth all dry, like we s**in' on cotton We thristy, so y'all better pray for mercy The state of mind, hip hop's in right now, hurts me Disgust me, everybody's thugs, gangstas, and p-i-m-ps We all irregular people, peace [Chorus] [Shyheim] 2000 box, New York 'ocks, a box of tops Be in S.A.Q. so long, they call me sock Who got the drop homey? I got the drop Runnin' up in the spot, with my 40 cal' glock The money, j**els and your cup is what I came for Then I'm lookin' at the front door, like Main Source Slidin' off in the 0-4, gray porsche I crucified the game, put the scale on the porch In memory of my mans, that died for grams Catch shots, dusted out, with the Wally Champs Screamin' 'f** everybody', lickin' shots like stance [Chorus] [Outro: Shyheim] Listen, man, there's 2 type of people, man Trend setters and those who follow trends Man, life is not a gimmick, man Life is a privalege, see y'all runnin' around here, frontin' man Like we won't take your life, B I'm serious, man, and go sit up in a box With some child sh**, and blow some holes and do pushups, n***a Make ya chest big, n***a, beat our dick offa something The black tails, or the bu*t-mans or something Keepin' it gangsta man, Bottom Up, Brock Bros 2-0-0-4, to infinity, n***a, remember that It's the God, you know?