The Diplomats - The Best Out lyrics

Intro (Hell Rell) Okay,okay,okay Yes sir Hell F**kin Rell, J.R. Writer, Forty This is how we do it I am one of a kind(yeah) Its now or never n***a Times up muthaf**ka Lets do this (Hell Rell) Aiyo, I stop paying for coke, get bricks on the muscle Gorillas on they bullsh**, Welcome to the jungle Fiends get served in the hallway, welcome to the hustle Where b**hes do anything for a hit of that gla** dick, When Im outta town, nothing less than a half brick, One-Sixty on the dash nothing less than a fast whip, I floss when its sunny, got money for a rainy day, In the dope spot a few blocks from where the Yankees play, Man Im heavy in that BX borough, We aint gotta front for nobody, We just thorough, and Im sittin' on an arsenal, rockets and the missiles, Took my advance and got my strip poppin with them nickels. And when Im in ya neighborhood, you gotta go hide, Deliver bullets to ya door like them Domino pies n***a, say hello to my little friend like scarface, I pull that f**kin rifle right out the guitar case (Chorus: Bezel) Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out Jones the kuffe smacker, He bringing them techs out Sporty-style, Forty Cal, He bringing corvettes out Bezel the Beast but I still show you what fresh bout You know who shavin the grams, 40k on the hand k**a n***a, what more can I say about Cam, J.R. the Writer of writers and Santana, Back like cooked crack He even supplying suppliers (J.R. Writer) Dipset, lets do it man The type that im tighter, tight cause im writer write cause im nicer, site for the lifers knifes in the cipher, writers a viper, listen this is bu*ter, even ringling brothers see i got the eye of the tiger before i met k**a cam, i was dealing k**a grams i mean k**er grams, throws a tan, fill a pan recorded in the hole, where you couldn't chill or stand no booth, microphone hangin off the ceiling fan ma** million fan sittin in the belly hilton watch how i heavy k**s him, bessey,chevy,desi fill em but i still aint break a sweat, yes Im chillin, Veet wong, seat wrong, tito gonna bet the building I been grind to lean, sniff lines for fiends, grams chopped, tan rock, I pitch lima beans Piff grind was mean, had em dumb stuck, so when i say uncut, i dont mean behind the scenes (Chorus) (40 Cal) 40 Yo Im a NY G like Jeremy Shockey, come through drop my coupe like i meant to be sloppy I got DJ's kickin karate, cause they throw my wax on and take your wax off like Mr. Myagi Pimpin, Im co*ky, I slap your broad on the cheek and send her home barefooted, you ma**aging her feet you probably go down on a freak, youre hardly a meat but we aint mad cause your proving, you are what you eat your squadron is weak, speak and get a broken something need a plate in ya grill like a toaster oven f**k it, they even got dojas frontin shakin your cola, only time your coke was bubbling cousin Cal get weight wit no problemo ride around ya block, sell it out the car window and ya moms been know, that I chop rocks that make your father cop like Carl Winslow (Chorus)