Sk**z - Murda Gram lyrics

[Intro] Motherf**ers want to k** me but ain’t got the heart So I picked the mic back up for this walk in the park And I don't want credit for this, this ain’t nothin’ I just answerin’ a n***a that kept pressin’ my bu*tons Uncle Murda, what’s all the games about? n***a, keep my f**ing name out your brown-a** mouth Clark Kent, your man about to hold this L So roll some weed I got a story to tell, listen [Verse] Couple years ago I'm up in AC I get a call from Clark Kent and he don't ever call me Talkin’ ‘bout he heard your version of my song He told you, you was bitin’ and you knew that you was wrong But not for nothing you was tryin to make it better And trying to reach out to see if we can do it together I’m like, “Clark, n***a you must be faded Why the f** would I collab on some sh** that I created? Y’all jaded If you don't get the f** off my phone And tell that old faced-a** n***a to leave me alone Get gone. Clark, you know I ain’t that dude And yeah I fell back on rap but don't get it confused.” sh** lit my fuse, you wouldn't call Hov And tell him 21 Savage want to do "22 Two’s" n***a, would you? The f** wrong with y’all? Bitin’ n***as, I could never get along with y’all A song? Naw, straight curvin’ n***as I wouldn’t even take a picture with Uncle Murda, n***a And then you started makin’ ‘em takin’ your little shots But I ain’t never hear ‘em, they only play ‘em up top You not worthy, you’re just dirty and thirsty You make them every year, they never get past Jersey n***a stop it, you got Brooklyn lookin’ crazy Matter-fact, you got Brooklyn lookin’ lazy I got cases in Virginia, bodies in D.C You got to think B.I.G. if you wanna come for me And I’m still VA, and I’m still that n***a Still M-A-D, where your sk**s at n***a? I heard you got popped and you ain’t peel that n***a Whoever told you to change your name, you should k** that n***a Lenny Grant, I can’t leave that alone That sh** read like it on the side of a funeral home Ladies and gents, this n***a gettin’ washed and rinsed Now if you a junior then that name makes sense Respect to your dad, that’s the least I can do Actually, umm, naw, f** him too Now how a Stan going to come for the man? Don't hide your hand, you wanted to be a wrap-up fan I ain’t Tweetin’, I ain’t leavin’ the ‘Gram I’m Pusha Ting, remindin’ these n***as who the f** I am, damn Reminding you on who the f** you are You a comedian, we don't come to you for bars We straight, on top of that you fake n***a, you signed to G-Unit ten years too late And what I’m ‘bout to say might piss New York off But you one of the reasons that New York soft A worker who could never be a New York boss Smack that dirty fitted off your head, New York lost n***a, dead-a** son, I’m not the one I heard back in your past you used to bust your gun I give a f**, n***a, I don't care, have a seat, here’s a chair No love over here, yeah, this the future Now who the f** get shot and make a tape called respect the shooter, huh You a adlibber but that’s all you do I can name 20 Brooklyn rappers more relevant than you So stop f**in’ with us, I go with Kane, B.I.G. and Jay, but that’s obvious Buckshot, Tek and Steele, Rock and Ruck Mos Def, Kweli, Masta Ace, Fabolous Foxy, umm, Lil Kim and Cease Skyzoo, Torae, oh Joell Ortiz I’m with Joey BADA$$, ask AZ M.O.P. would have told you you shouldn’t f** with me You sendin’ DMs like a thirty chick And got mad when I asked your dirty-a**, “Who this?” And you can guntalk all day, that’s yours But you ain’t seein’ me with these goddamn bars You’ll never say you took me Before that happens, Young M.A. will give you some p**y n***a, you kept pushin’ so I had to play But this type of sh** happens everyday And when you see me, you know what I’ma say I was spreadin' love, it’s the Virginia way, n***a